Brothers and Friends
by Shivased
Summary: Set in early season 1: Sam and Dean argue after meeting some of Sam's friends and Dean storms out. But when Sam is badly injured, the bonds of brotherhood prevail.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Supernatural or it's two very handsome characters. But boy do I wish I did.....

A/N: This is my first story, so be nice please. It's not beta'd. Any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

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"Don't you miss Stanford, Sam?"

Sam shrugged and took a sip of his beer while he thought of how to answer his friend, glancing over to the pool table where Dean was playing. He and his brother were in Maine after finishing off a poltergeist that had been wreaking havoc in a hotel beloning to an old friend of their dad's. While in the little seaside town they had run into three of Sam's friends from Stanford who were vacationing for the summer. Sam had been delighted to see Justin, Krista and Jonathan, and had convinced Dean to take the hotel owner up on the free all-inclusive week he'd offered them as a thank-you.

"Yeah, I guess." He finally answered. It was true, he did miss Stanford. But with their hunt for their father he hadn't really thought a lot about it. All his thoughts on that period in his life had been about Jess mostly. And he was enjoying being back with Dean. He wasn't willing to give that up yet, not even to go back to Stanford.

"So why don't you come back? You have a full ride, you know that. I'm sure I can talk to my father, have him pull some strings for you." Krista said, giving him a full dimpled smile. "He can get them to overlook your leaving before the semester ended, get you that interview you missed."

"I have something I have to do, it's important. A road trip with my brother." He wasn't sure how to explain things. He wished he could tell his friends the truth but that was out of the question. He had never told anyone at Stanford the truth, not even Jess. They'd think he was nuts.

"More important than your education? Than becoming a lawyer? Sam, you said it was your dream." Jonathan leaned forward and stared at him. "I know he's your brother, but come on. He didn't even come to visit you in the years you were at Stanford. Then he shows up and yanks you away from your life? What kind of brother does that?"

"Someone mention me?" Sam turned when Dean's cheerful voice sounded from right behind him, distracted for the moment from his friend's words. He took in the gleam in his brother's eyes and knew he'd been successful at the pool game he'd been hustling.

"We were just talking about Stanford, and Sam told us about how you two are on a road trip. It sounds…fun…..wandering aimlessly around the US with no real goals." Jason replied, his tone clearly showing what he thought of Dean. Sam frowned at the condescension in his friend's voice, but pushed it aside. He was hearing things. Jason wasn't that kind of guy, he'd never be rude to Dean.

"Yeah, we are. Thought we'd see the country a bit," Dean replied carefully, his gaze calculating.

"Must be expensive, you know, with that….car....you drive. It must just guzzle the gas. How do you afford it, I mean without a job and all," Krista commented, emphasizing the word _car_ and coughing delicately.

Dean turned his gaze on Krista. "It's a classic. And we may not have a trust fund like you, but that doesn't mean we don't have money." His words were simple, but Sam heard the venom behind the calmly spoken words and could feel the tension rising at their table. Dean didn't take kindly to insults to his baby, and Sam knew that's what he would see Krista's comment as. There was no way around it, Dean and his friends didn't seem to be getting along, no matter how he tried to deny it.

It was time to intervene before things got too heated. "Hey, Dean, I'm ready to turn in. Why don't we head back to the Hotel?" He gave his brother what he hoped was a convincing look before turning to his friends. "So, I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, definitely honey. We're going hiking, and then we're going out for dinner." Krista stood up and gave Sam a hug, then turned to Dean. "We're going to Leandro's, you can join us if you want, though it may be a little…upscale…for your tastes." She coughed delicately again and gave Dean an innocent look.

"Yeah, maybe. I'll think about it." Dean said before turning and walking out. Surprised at the meekness in Dean's voice, Sam said a hasty goodbye to his friends and hurried after his brother.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Dean was silent the entire way to the hotel, and the minute they got back to their room muttered something about having a shower before disappearing into the bathroom. Sam watched him, staring at the closed bathroom door until he heard the shower running. Dean had been acting weird, quiet and withdrawn, since they had met up with Krista, Justin, and Jonathan two days before. He just hadn't noticed it until now, he'd been so caught up with his friends, having fun on their impromptu mini vacation.

He was surprised to hear Dean come out of the shower; he hadn't noticed he'd been sitting on the bed the whole time. He sat there watching Dean putter around, sorting through his duffel and getting dressed, then flopping down onto his bed to flip through the channels on TV.

"So, you're going out with your friends tomorrow, eh?" Dean asked suddenly, turning the TV off and looking at him.

Sam sat up straight, the casual way Dean was talking instantly putting him on high alert. "Yeah, like Krista said, we're going hiking, then we're going out to dinner, but you were invited too." He chose his words carefully, trying to sound as casual as Dean was. "You might like the hike; local legend says a young man fell off the bluff but his body was never recovered. Now he murders young men, pushing him off the cliff the same way he died. We could check it out while we hike."

"I was thinking, you're enjoying yourself, so why don't I head up to that vengeful spirit in Pennsylvania Bobby called us about yesterday? I'm only in the way here. You can stay the rest of the week and I'll pick you up when on Friday. It's only Monday, so you can have three more days with your friends without me tagging along embarrassing you." Dean carefully ignored the mention of a possible hunt. Sam was trying to placate him and he wasn't in the mood for it.

Sam opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again before finally finding his voice, but all he could manage was a shocked "what?"

Dean shrugged. "I just think it'd be easier if I took care of the spirit, give you some time with your friends. It's not like I'm all that welcome here anyway, your friends have made that clear."

Sam didn't know what to say. Dean sounded…_lost_. Not like his confident, almost arrogantly self-assured brother. "You aren't embarrassing me, Dean." Finally finding his voice, he stared earnestly at his brother, not understanding what was going on at all. "Nobody ever said you weren't welcome, and they do like you." Ok, maybe he was stretching it about his friends liking Dean, but he had to say it.

Dean laughed a humourless laugh. "No? Then why do they constantly tell you I'm a bad brother for dragging you away from Stanford? Why does Krista feel the need to insult my car and my tastes every chance she gets? Why does Jonathan talk to me like I'm a retarded five year old?" His voice got louder as he talked, and he jumped up to pace the room.

"Dean, they're just joking around, they don't mean it."

"Don't they Sam?" Dean stopped and whirled on around to face him. "Or are you so determined to pretend you're still at Stanford that you refuse to see it? Hell, you've joined them in their fun with me enough the past couple days!" He threw up his hands suddenly and grabbed his duffel, shoving things into it as fast as he could and zipping it up when he was done. "Forget it. Like I said, I'll go deal with the spirit Bobby told us about, and meet you back here on Friday."

"Dean, wait." Sam jumped up and grabbed Dean's arm as the older Winchester started for the door. "I-"

"No, Sam." Dean interrupted, yanking his arm away. "It's better this way. You have fun with your friends, I'll take care of the job. Actually, why don't we forget about Friday? You can just call me when you're ready to come back to the real world. I wouldn't want to force you." Hiking his bag up higher on his shoulder he left, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the room staring open-mouthed at the door.

Sinking down onto the bed, Sam kept staring at the door, expecting Dean to come back in, a wisecrack on his lips. But as the room darkened into evening and then night and Dean didn't return, it hit him that Dean had really left. His shock turned to worry, then fear, then slowly to anger. What was so wrong with him wanting to spend time with friends? Why couldn't Dean just let him be normal for a while, forget about their dad, about Jess, about the Demon?

He lay back on the bed when his back started to protest his hunched position on the edge and stared at the ceiling, falling into an uneasy sleep a few hours later.

The next morning Sam woke to find the bed closest to the door empty, and felt tears spring to his eyes. He had thought – hoped – it had all been a bad dream. But no, Dean's things were gone, the bed was made. Nobody had slept in it. He leapt up and raced to the window to look down on the parking lot. The Impala wasn't there in the spot that corresponded with their room number. Sinking down into the chair next to the window he rested his head against the cold window pane, feeling suddenly very alone as the realization sank in that Dean had actually left him.


	2. Chapter 2

After leaving Sam in Bar Harbour, Dean drove straight through to Pennsylvania, only stopping to eat and fill up the car. If he had stopped for the night, or for anything else but the basics he would have turned around and gone back, and he really didn't want to do that. He was too hurt to face his brother and needed some time to think. Every few hours he had to stop himself just as he started to dial Sam's phone number, finally giving up and throwing the phone across the front seat. It slid on the leather seat and onto the floor of the passenger side with a soft clunk.

He had been hurt by the way Sam's friends had treated him. They had been condescending, arrogant, insulting, and plain mean for two days, and it had hurt. He had put up with it for Sam, was willing to put up with it just to see his little brother laugh and joke and have fun. But when Sam had started laughing at their jokes at his expense and had taken to explaining things to him like his friends did, like Dean had an IQ of 3, he'd realized he couldn't do it.

It was a surprise that people like Jonathan, Krista and Justin could hurt him. He wasn't so shallow that that kind of thing normally bothered him. He knew rich people like them looked down on people like the Winchesters and had been able to ignore it before. He usually found it funny that people with everything could actually have so little when it came to personality and humanity. It was more Sam's joining them that hurt and he couldn't take that. So he had left. He'd give Sam a few days and then call. It would give him a few days too.

By the time he found a motel it had been almost twelve hours since he had walked out on Sam. Flopping down on one of the queen beds in his room, the one closest to the door, he couldn't help a small chuckle though there was no humour in it. Even when Sam wasn't there, he got a double room and took the bed by the door. Normally he'd find that funny but this time he didn't. It only served to remind him of everything that had happened.

That he'd walked out.

"Oh, God, Sammy. I walked out." The whisper came out hoarse and harsh in the empty room as sudden realization hit him. He'd walked out, left the only person that mattered to him. Then he reminded himself that Sam had made it clear he was a third wheel in their fun and some of his guilt turned back to hurt and anger. This one wasn't his fault, not entirely. It didn't help much and he still felt guilty as hell, but it did ease the horrible ache in his gut a little.

He needed to take his mind of things, give himself some time and clear his head before he went nuts, he decided. The vengeful spirit would be perfect for that. Jumping up he gathered salt, gasoline, matches, a shotgun and plenty of rock salt rounds and packed it all into his duffle bag. It was a simple salt and burn. Bobby had already done most of the work for them, researching the deaths and finding out it was some old man that had murdered his wife. Now he was going around murdering people who had secrets. All in a day's work for a hunter; all he had to do was find the bones, salt and burn them, and he'd be done. Getting it done right away meant he could spend a day or two relaxing, maybe work on the Impala a bit before he went back to Maine for Sam.

With that thought in mind, Dean hefted the equipment duffle and headed out, in a better mood than he had been since he and Sam had met up with Sam's college friends.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Sighing, Sam stood up from his position by the window to answer the door. He'd been sitting there since early morning, unable to take his eyes off the parking spot the Impala had been in. Once the door was open, he returned to his place without saying a word to his friends, turning to stare back out the window, willing Dean to pull into the parking space.

"Hey, Sam, you ready to go?" Krista paused at the sight of the youngest Winchester. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Dean left." Sam replied after a few minutes of awkward silence, sighing heavily. "We had a fight last night, and he left."

Jonathan snorted. "Can't say as I'm surprised, pal. He didn't seem to be having very much fun with us."

"I don't think he really fit in, it's probably for the best. He really didn't fit in here, he's not like us. Did he say when he'd be back?" Krista's voice was gentle, but for the first time Sam really heard her. Dean Didn't fit in? He wasn't one of them? Since when hadn't he noticed things like that before? Or maybe it was just his imagination. He pushed it away for the moment, but couldn't completely forget it.

"He said to call him when I'm ready to be picked up." Sam didn't tell his friends what Dean had really said; something told him not to. He had a feeling it wouldn't help matters if they knew.

"Well, then we still have a few days. You're booked in here until Friday, right? Why don't we just hang out until then, have some fun, and you can decide if you want to call him then. If not, you can stay with us as long as you want." Justin looked sincere, but as with Krista Sam realized there was something in his voice, in the way he said things, that he hadn't noticed before and he didn't think he wanted to consider. If he did, he suspected he'd find Dean had been right.

"Yeah, thanks. I'll call him later, let him know to pick me up on Friday." He chose his words carefully, his face a practiced mask as he studied his friends with the eyes of a hunter, wondering why he hadn't noticed these things before. He wasn't convinced they were the people Dean seemed to think, but suddenly he was seeing the little things that could have offended his brother. And if he was honest with himself, they offended him a little too.

"Why don't we head out, get in that hike?" He picked up the pack he had gotten ready the day before and grinned. The grin was slightly forced, but he needed some time to think, to take his mind of things, and a hike sounded like the perfect way.

Five hours later Sam wasn't so sure anymore that a hike had been the best idea. Actually, the hike had been a good idea; he was sweaty, hot and completely exhausted as they reached the summit of the trail, overlooking the bay that spread out below them, the dark blue of the Atlantic Ocean stretching to meet the light blue of a cloudless summer sky. And to top it off he'd done a bit of work as well, studying the trail and the surroundings for the ghost local legend said was there. He didn't have any equipment with him, so he couldn't do a proper job but it would give him something to tell Dean when his brother came to get him.

It was the company that hadn't been the good idea. He had paid attention to his friends, listening and watching intently like he would when interviewing people on a hunt. At first he hadn't noticed much – a sarcastic tone here, a little bit of mockery there when they talked about people and places. It was all things he could easily brush off as his imagination or something. But that got harder as the day wore on, and he eventually gave up and slowly fell behind the others, needing to be alone.

Watching his friends had made him realize why Dean had left, and that he had helped push his brother away. What he had thought were just jokes and fun, things he had laughed at, he now realized had been purposely mean and hurtful to Dean. His anger slowly faded, to be replaced with guilt. When he got back to the hotel he'd call and apologize to Dean. He'd ask his brother to come pick him up as soon as he could. Now that he really saw Justin, Krista and Jonathan he didn't really want to be there anymore, he wanted to be with his brother.

By the time he reached the bluff they were sitting around on a blanket, enjoying the lunch they had brought. "Hey, there you are honey. We were just about to send a search and rescue team for you." Krista called, patting the blanket beside her and giving him a smile he thought would be better directed at a toddler. "Come eat. That diner didn't do a very good job on the food, but we're hungry enough to eat it."

Forcing a smile, Sam sat down and took the plate of food Krista handed to him. The turkey sandwich was good, just the right mix of turkey, mayonnaise, lettuce, cheese and tomato, and if Dean had been there, he would have died at the taste of the coleslaw. It was just like Krista to complain about the food, he thought suddenly, thinking back and remembering how she had always complained.

"Sorry, I needed a bit of time to think and didn't realize you'd gotten so far ahead of me."

"No worries, pal. We figured you wanted to think." Justin replied, and set his plate down. "We wanted to talk to you, actually. Krista called her father last night, and he's agreed to plead your case to the board of governors at Stanford."

"Yeah, Daddy says it's a sure thing. I mean, after Jess and all, it's no wonder you needed some time to sort things out. But now it's time to come back to school." Krista set her food aside as well.

Sam just gaped at his friends. He wasn't sure whether to be angry or glad for their interference, and the way Krista had flippantly mentioned Jess shocked him. "Um…thanks guys…I think." He managed finally. "But I'm not really ready to come back. I'm doing this road trip with my brother, and it's kind of important to him, to both of us."

"Come on, Sam, a road trip? There's no way it can be more important than Stanford. That's your whole life." Justin scoffed. "And it's not as if your brother really cares, or even understands. A guy like him? He could never understand Stanford."

"He left you, Sam. You don't need to stick with him anymore. Just come home to Stanford, come back to your life. He probably doesn't even care. He walked out on you, remember? And he didn't even come to see you in all those years at school. What kind of brother is that?" Jonathan piped up with a condescending smile.

Sam continued to gape at his friends. All day it had been as if a curtain had been lifted and he was suddenly seeing them for the first time, and they were exactly what Dean had said. The events of the past two days replayed in his mind at warp speed. Each memory held more this time – the shallowness, pettiness and snobbery of his friends, and how they had treated his brother. He felt stupid for not noticing it before.

"I –" he cut himself off, at a loss for what to say. "No, okay? You guys have no idea what you're talking about." He said finally, his whirlwind thoughts making it impossible to think. Standing up, he picked up his pack. "I'll meet you guys back at the parking lot. I need to think."

He turned and started walking back down the trail. He heard movement behind him, and someone grabbed his arm. "Come on, Sam, we're only thinking about you here. You belong at school, not being dragged across the country on some pointless road trip."

Sam whirled around and yanked his arm out of Justin's. "You really think you're thinking about me? I've told you the road trip with Dean is important, to me and to him so stop digging into it and Dean. Stop the insults, the condescension, the picking. He's my brother, he cares about me and I care about him. Just leave me alone, stop pushing me to go back to school. Just…stop."

He took off angrily, but before he had taken more than twenty steps he felt something shift under his right foot and suddenly he was falling, the ground giving way under him. He heard shouts above him as he plummeted downward, twisting and trying to grab onto something, anything, to slow himself down. Then something slammed into his chest and he couldn't breathe. Whatever had slammed into him whirled him off to the right, into something else that cracked into his lower body, causing pain to erupt all over him. He had just enough time to realize, and thank God, that he wasn't on the bay side of the bluff but on the side that ran down into a forest before his body crashed into something hard. Pain shot through him from head to toe and everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Here is the missing Chapter! I'm terribly sorry for missing this one, guys! I don't know how it happened. I happened to notice, when I was reading my story over, that some of it didn't make sense, and then realized a chapter was missing! So I've replaced the content in each chapter and added this one in. The rest of the story is exactly the same, I just had to move each chapter up one to make room for this.

**Disclaimer: **The usual. They aren't mine.

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As realization came back, so did the pain. Everything hurt; a deep, searing hurt that invaded his every sense. Sam tried to remember what had happened but it hurt too much to think and besides, he couldn't really concentrate over the little man jackhammering away in his head. Had they been on a hunt? And if they had, what had it been and was Dean?

He could hear voices, it sounded like someone calling his name. He recognized the loudest voice; it was familiar in a way, but he couldn't place it. He wanted Dean, it was all his muddled brain could think of and it made him ignore the voices that he could hear. Nothing else was important but finding Dean. He tried to call his brother, but his mouth didn't work. Then the voices were closer, getting louder. They were followed by the sounds of scrambling and someone was next to him, putting a hand on his arm, on his face. For a brief minute he thought it was Dean, but the hands were small and smooth and cold instead of warm and calloused and large. It wasn't Dean, and he wanted Dean, not whoever was there.

Trying hard, he managed to open his eyes – or eye since one refused to open – to slits and peered at the fuzzy shape leaning over him. "Dnnnn…" he managed, his voice barely a whisper.

"Hush, honey, it's Krista. Don't move. Jonathan and Justin went for help. There's an emergency phone back down the path a bit, they'll be back soon and we'll get you to a hospital." She patted his cheek and continued to talk, but Sam ignored her. He wanted his brother, not Krista.

Where was Dean?

"D'nnn" he muttered, louder this time, and forced his eyes open wider, ignoring the stinging pain in the left one. The bright sunlight streaming through the trees above him sent spikes of pain through his head, so he closed them again.

"No, honey. Not Dean. Krista." Krista said, enunciating every word and almost yelling them, as if he were the retarded five year old Dean had mentioned before. "Dean isn't here, he left you remember? Last night, you said you guys had a fight and Dean left."

_Dean left?_ Sam tried to shake his head but he didn't have the energy. Black dots were dancing in his vision; he pushed them away. He needed to stay awake, for Dean. Dean wouldn't leave him, he wouldn't do that. But he wasn't here, Krista said he wasn't. A memory filtered back through is foggy brain. Dean, telling him he was leaving, to forget about Friday. To call when he was ready to come back to reality. He had left. They weren't on a hunt, Dean had left. But Dean wouldn't leave, he knew that. His brother never left him.

"D'nnn" he whispered again, desperation lacing his voice. Tears leaked out of his eyes, leaving tracks in the dirt on his face and soaking the collar of his shirt. "W'n't D'nnn…"

"I know honey, but he isn't coming. He's gone, he isn't here. He's not coming back, he said he wasn't."

It couldn't be true. But Krista just kept repeating it, telling him she was here and Dean wasn't. That Dean wasn't there. It was the last thing he heard as he let the blackness that had been pulling at him take over and he sank down into the welcome oblivion.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

New sounds pulled Sam back to consciousness; Krista yelling, more scrambling, new voices talking to him, hands prodding him. The hands hurt but he couldn't pull away, his body wouldn't respond to him, and they were holding him down anyway. He didn't really care what was going on, all he could think was that Dean had left, he wasn't there. He wanted Dean so badly, but his brother had left him. Krista said he wasn't coming back. She said that Dean had said so. He didn't remember that, but it was so hard to think, it hurt too much and he couldn't concentrate. The darkness returned and he let it come, welcoming it because it let him forget that he was alone.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Next time he woke, he was moving. People were still talking, hands were still on him. He moaned and tried to move but something held him tight. Struggling against it and ignoring the pain his feeble movements caused he tried to see where he was and what was going on. The hands on him became insistent, holding him down, and the voice began to filter through his panic.

"It's ok, Sam, just lie still. We're taking you to the hospital. Do you have someone we can call? Your friends said you've been asking for your brother. Do you know his number?"

Sam just blinked at the blurry figure leaning over him, then closed his eyes and drifted off again. Dean wasn't coming, Dean had left, so it didn't matter anymore anyway.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

It was cold this time, he was dimly aware of people again, but they were less distinct, more fuzzy to him and he didn't have the energy to open his eyes to see where he was. Something was on his face, the plastic taste telling him it was oxygen, and faint pinches in his arms told him he had IV's. So a hospital. He hated hospitals. Someone was cutting off his clothes and more hands were on him, but he couldn't feel them, not really. Everything seemed kind of numb and indistinct. The voices were distant and the words hard to understand, but he could hear a few. "Decreased breath ... left side….punctured lung…..abdomen is rigid….. hemopneumothorax…..x-rays on the chest and abdomen…….head injury…..bleeding……surgery."

Words filtered into Sam's brain, things he was pretty sure were about him, but he couldn't make himself care. He could only think about Dean, that his brother wasn't there. Every time he woke he couldn't think of anything else. He knew deep down that Dean would never leave him, especially not in a hospital yet Krista had been so sure when she said he was gone. Dimly he was aware of the beeping that had been a steady presence since he came to getting more frantic, but the blackness was coming back. "Not breathing…..losing him….tube….get me some paddles" were the last things he heard before he gave in to oblivion again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: **Soo, this story is getting really hard to write. I'm having a lot of trouble with the angst part of it. Everything I write seems to be a repeat of what I have earlier in the story. For that I apologize, I have the story about 2/3 written, I just need to get the rest done, and add in all the angst if I can manage to stop repeating myself. So, any suggestions would be great.

I love the reviews, you guys are all great and it's been a huge encouragement for me, especially since I've been terrified of how my writing would be received. I was ready for a bunch of "you're horrible, never write again" and instead got wonderful encouragements. I don't have time to reply to you all personally, so a huge group thanks.

Also, my apologies for any medical mistakes from now on. I tried to do some research but I'm not a doctor, and being a university student anything non-school related is very low on my priority list. I've tried to keep things realistic. The way Sam wakes up is actually real, a friend of mine's brother woke up that way. Half dead and with very little chance one minute and wide awake and choking the next.

And, since I haven't done one in a couple chapters: I don't own Sam and Dean, or Supernatural. I really, really wish I did and Kripke if you wanted to give me a Christmas present I wouldn't say no to the lovely boys.

* * *

Dean kicked the door closed behind him and dropped the weapon's bag down on the floor, then sank down on a bed, one hand cradling his wrist. The angry spirit had been a bitch, but Bobby's intel had been perfect. Son of a bitch had put up a fight, though. He was pretty sure he'd broken his wrist when the bastard had tossed him into a wall just as Dean had thrown the match into the open grave.

He stood up, hissing at the jolt of pain that went through his broken wrist. And it was broken, he was pretty sure of that. He'd have to get it checked out before he went to get Sam. And for once he wouldn't have to worry about fake insurance, he thought, a grin spreading across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope and ran a finger across the bills inside, a cool fifteen thousand dollars. The house owner, some rich old guy, had been delighted when Dean had fixed his problem, saving his wife who was apparently the spirit's next target, and had insisted on paying him the hefty sum in return. Money was tight so even though shock had made him protest at first, Dean hadn't argued. Besides, he was sure the prospect of not having to use the forged credit cards for a while and having a bit of a financial cushion would put a smile on Sam's face, and after having almost two days to think about things, he figured that was what he needed to do.

Not just make Sam smile; that was just part of it. He needed to apologize to his brother, for everything. For getting mad at him; for trying to ruin his time with his friends; and most of all for walking out. He'd only been half there on the hunt, which was probably why the ghost had gotten the upper hand long enough to toss him around. For most of it he had been thinking about Sam and what he had said to his little brother. It had been stupid, worrying about what people thought and then taking it out on Sam when it wasn't his fault. The poor kid had just been trying to have a little fun for a while; fun Dean had ruined. He just hoped Sam would forgive him. God knew the kid had looked damn hurt when he'd slammed the hotel room door.

Sighing, he set the money on the table and grabbed for his duffel, pulling out clean clothes and heading for the shower. Shucking his mud and dirt covered ones he turned the water on and climbed in, careful of his wrist. He'd get cleaned up, get some sleep, go to the hospital and call Sam, then head back to Maine. It was Wednesday morning, so if he slept for a few hours and then drove without stopping he could make it by morning. They'd stay as long as Sam wanted, he'd let his brother hang with his friends, and when Sam was ready they'd move on. Maybe he'd even check out the spirit on the hiking trail Sam had told him about.

Pleased with his plan, he climbed out of the shower and dried off, slipping one-handed into clean boxers, a t-shirt and sweats and headed to the bed, tossing his wet towel into the corner of the bathroom. He was just sinking down into the surprisingly comfortable mattress when his phone rang. Cursing whoever was phoning for keeping him from sleep, he flipped the phone open and looked at the number. It wasn't one he recognized. "Yeah?" he asked, pressing talk and putting the phone to his ear.

"Mr. Winchester? Dean Winchester?" a man's voice asked.

"Yeah, who the hell is this?"

"Mr. Winchester, my name is Dr. Brian Lacey, do you have a brother named Sam?"

Dean felt like his heart had stopped. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and gripped the phone so tight it hurt. "What's wrong? Is Sam ok?" he demanded. His mouth had gone dry and his voice came out rough and hoarse. There was only one reason a doctor would be calling him about Sam.

"He's been in an accident, Mr. Winchester. It would be best if you could come as soon as possible. He's at Angel of Mercy Hospital." Dr. Lacey said in that annoyingly calm voice doctors seemed to have. "I'll explain more when you get here."

"But he's ok, right? He's gonna be ok?" Dean was sure he was going to break the phone if he gripped it any tighter.

"Please, Mr. Winchester, I'll explain more when you get here."

"Yeah, ok. I'll be there in a couple of hours." He snapped the phone closed and sat there, staring into space, shaking so hard he wasn't sure he could move. But then his mind leapt into action and was tearing around the room, shoving his feet into his boots, cramming things into his duffel bag, and performing a quick check of the room to make sure he hadn't left any weapons or anything behind. He didn't bother dressing, didn't even think of dressing. He was covered and that was all he cared. Within ten minutes he was in the Impala, tearing out of the parking lot and back in the direction of his brother.

Dean didn't remember much about the drive from Pennsylvania to Bar Harbour, but he was sure he'd broken every speed limit imaginable and a good portion of the driving laws, too. Somehow he managed the drive in less than six hours, and before he knew it he was screeching to a halt in the first parking spot available and racing into the hospital.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for my brother Sam. Sam Winchester. I got a call that said he'd been in an accident." He said to the nurse at the reception desk. She looked down at her computer, tapping a few keys before looking back up at him with that damn compassionate look.  
"If you'll have a seat over there, Mr. Winchester, I'll have Dr. Lacey paged. He left instructions to be called when he you arrived." She motioned to the waiting area. "And I'll need these forms filled out. Do you have insurance?"

"No, no insurance, but we can pay," he replied distractedly, staring at the doors to the ER. He didn't really care about insurance or payment at the moment, though now he was thankful he had the money to fall back on. Taking the forms he went to the chairs, sinking down on one and putting his head in his hands. He didn't even feel his broken wrist anymore, hastily wrapped in a tensor bandage before he had left. It scared him that the doctor had asked to be paged when he got there, and coupled with his cryptic words on the phone Dean knew it couldn't be good.

After over an hour he was ready to scream. The nurse had taken the forms back and replied to his demands about his brother with the same annoying smile and a compassionate "The doctor will be out soon." He'd been in waiting rooms before, more than he liked, but this, not knowing what was wrong with Sam, not having been there when he was hurt, was so much worse. He didn't have a clue what was going on, and added to that the guilt that he had walked out on Sam, made everything so much worse.

"Mr. Winchester? Dean?" A voice startled Dean out of his thoughts. It occurred to him he'd been called a couple of times and looked up to see a young doctor standing in front of him. "I'm Dr. Brian Lacey, Sam's physician." He said, holding out a hand.

Standing, Dean took it. "How's my brother? Can I see him?"

"Why don't we go into my office first and talk?" Dr. Lacey suggested, taking Dean's arm. Dean let him, fear making him numbly follow. In an office he was gently pushed down to sit in a chair, the doctor pulling one over to face him.

"Sam was in an accident, the ground gave way beneath him when he was hiking and he fell down into a gorge." Dr. Lacey began. He had the impression that Dean Winchester wouldn't want things sugar coated, so didn't. "His injuries were severe. He suffered a severe concussion, a broken pelvis, Tibia and Fibia, ankle and several ribs." He paused, giving Dean a minute to digest what he was saying. "He also suffered severe internal bleeding; a significant tear in his kidney and a ruptured spleen had to be surgically repaired. In addition, two of his ribs punctured his lung, and along with internal bleeding it created a hemopneumothorax, or a collapsed lung caused by internal bleeding. Finally, a tree branch punctured his shoulder, tearing some of the muscle and tendons and dislocating the joint, and he suffered severe bruising to his abdomen, liver and kidneys, arms and legs."

Dean felt himself paling by degrees, and by the time the doctor was done he was sure he was going to pass out. Clearing his throat, he felt his stomach clench and pressed his hands to his eyes, barely feeling the pain it caused his forgotten wrist. His head was swimming; before he knew what was happening, he was leaning over a garbage can, heaving his guts out while someone, the Doctor by the sounds of the voice, rubbed his back and told him to relax. Water was shoved in his hands and someone helped him drink, then he was half carried somewhere. After that everything blurred until it went completely black.

The next thing knew he was laying propped up on a gurney in a curtained cubicle. His wrist was covered in a cast wrapped in blue medical tape and a nurse was removing an IV from his hand. "Welcome back, it's about time you woke up" she said with a smile. "I'll go get the doctor."

Nodding, Dean looked around, still a little woozy and not all that sure what had happened. When Dr. Lacey came around the curtain, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way the room tilted slightly. "What happened?"

"You took a bit of a nose dive in my office about an hour ago." Dr. Lacey said, coming over and lifting his casted arm. "Shock will do that to you, and you had quite a shock there. This wrist didn't help matters, either. I'm surprised you didn't get it checked out."

"Happened just before you called. I forgot about it. My brother?" Dean replied, sitting still for the doctor to listen to his heart and look in his eyes, and because he needed a few minutes. If he stood up now, he was pretty sure he'd fall over.

"As I was saying before you fainted, Sam's injuries are severe." Dr. Lacey said carefully, watching Dean closely. _Probably so he can keep me from passing out_ _again_, Dean thought. _Though at this point I think I might if he starts listing more injuries._

Dr. Lacey was still talking, Dean realized he had zoned out and immediately tuned back into the doctor's words. "….ventilator. He went into respiratory arrest just after we brought him in. We were forced to put him on the ventilator." The doctor paused, and his face took on that look, the one that combined compassion and sorrow and resignation. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, but he's slipped into a coma. We nearly lost him twice on the table while we repaired his internal injuries. We'll continue to do everything we can, but his chances are very slim at this point. I think it may only be a matter of time now. I suggest you say your goodbyes just in case."

"What do you mean? You're saying he's gonna die?" Dean was surprised he could get the hoarse words out. His chest felt like someone was squeezing it. He couldn't breathe, and it hurt. He was not going to lose his brother, not after they had just found each other again. Swallowing, he blinked when the room started to spin again, concentrating on the doctor's arm when it appeared on his shoulder until everything settled down. "Can I see him?"

"Of course; he's in ICU, if you'll follow me." Dr. Lacey motioned for Dean to follow. Leading him up to ICU, he showed him where his brother's bed was.

Approaching the curtain Dr. Lacey pointed him to Dean had to force himself to walk around it. He wasn't prepared for the sight that met his eyes, and if it weren't for the Doctor's steadying hand that gripped his bicep he would have crashed to the floor again.

Sam was deathly still in the bed, white as the pillow his head rested on, a tube down his throat that made his chest rise and fall with the quiet beep and hiss of the machine it was hooked to. There was a tube up his nose and wires trailed out of the front of his hospital gown to monitors surrounding him, an oxygen monitor was on his finger and IV's snaked to bags hanging from hooks on either side of him, one in each hand, in the crook of his elbow, and a main line coming out of his neck. More tubes ran from under the pale blue blanket that covered him. The beeping of the heart monitor was slow and slightly erratic, which terrified Dean more than the rest of it. It told him Sam's heart was barely beating, struggling to keep him alive.

"God, Sammy." He muttered, moving forward. Taking one of his brother's hands in his casted one, careful of the IV in it, he laid the other on Sam's head, stroking through the unruly brown hair and rubbing his thumb on Sam's temple. A chair bumped his legs and he sank back onto it, his hands never leaving his brother. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I never should have left you. I should have stayed."

"Is there someone I can call for you, a family member, anyone?" Dr. Lacey asked quietly from behind him.

Never taking his eyes from his brother or stopping the gentle motion of his hand on Sam's head, Dean shook his head no. "No, there's nobody. We don't have anyone, we're all each other has." His voice broke on the last part and a tear dripped down onto Sam's hand. They had their father, he could call, but John Winchester hadn't come when Dean had been dying so Dean doubted very much he'd come when Sam was. But after a second he asked "What about the people he was with? Where are they?" He didn't know why he wanted to know, but it dawned on him he hadn't seen Sam's three friends once since he arrived.

"I'm not sure, they didn't arrive at the hospital with him. The paramedic said they told them Sam had nobody, that you were gone and wouldn't come for him. Apparently they were telling Sam that when help arrived. It seemed to be making him more agitated so the paramedics asked them to leave." Dr. Lindsay's voice told Dean exactly what the doctor thought of that, and he felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. So he wasn't the only one who didn't think much of Sam's supposed friends. "We found your number on his phone and called you, since he had been asking for you."

Nodding, Dean sent him a brief grateful look before turning his full attention back to Sam. Dr. Lindsay smiled sadly and slipped out, pausing by the nurse's station to let them know Dean was allowed to stay there, regardless of ICU rules and visiting hours. He didn't know why, but there was something about the brothers that he liked. Sam's chances weren't good, but he found himself hoping against hope that the boy made it.

When the doctor was gone, Dean was silent for a minute, staring at his brother's pale face. The whole left side was a mass of bruises from Sam's temple to his chin and his lip was cut. There was a dark circle under his right eye, and everything contrasted painfully to Dean against his brother's deathly white and paper thin skin. "You can't die on me, you hear Sammy? That's not an option." He said finally, blinking back the tears that stung at his eyes. "It's not an option. You can't give up, Winchesters don't give up." His words were harsh with worry, and he gripped Sam's hand tightly as he spoke, as if he could will his brother to wake up.

Dean stayed with Sam from then on, not moving out of the hard plastic chair. At first the nurses tried to get him to leave when they came in to check on Sam, but after the first few stubborn refusals had resigned themselves to working around him and had even explained the machines to him. It was a comfort to know what all the numbers meant, and Dean found himself checking them every few minutes to reassure himself that Sam was still there. Sometimes a nurse came in and checked on him, bringing him coffee or water and a couple of times giving him a shot of something that made his throbbing wrist mercifully numb, but otherwise they left him alone.

He kept up a steady flow of conversation, talking to Sam about everything and anything he could think of from past hunts to muscle cars to repeating the hospital gossip he heard the nurses talking about. He wasn't sure if the one-sided conversation was for himself or for Sam, but it at least made the time go by a little faster. Not that the time went by very fast, though. It felt like he had been there forever, when really only a few hours had passed.

A nurse had brought a pillow and blanket in to him, leaving it on the end of the bed with a small smile. Dean had nodded his thanks but hadn't touched it, his attention focused on Sam. But by early Friday morning the over three days without sleep since he had walked out on Sam, and the stress he was feeling, had begun to wear on him and he'd found himself slowly nodding off. His head jerked back up each time it started to fall forward, but gradually his body won the fight and he ended up with his head on Sam's bed, his casted hand still holding Sam's and his other hand resting on Sam's forearm, lulled to sleep by the slow beep of the heart monitor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: **Soo, this story is getting really hard to write. I'm having a lot of trouble with the angst part of it. Everything I write seems to be a repeat of what I have earlier in the story. For that I apologize, I have the story about 2/3 written, I just need to get the rest done, and add in all the angst if I can manage to stop repeating myself. So, any suggestions would be great.

I love the reviews, you guys are all great and it's been a huge encouragement for me, especially since I've been terrified of how my writing would be received. I was ready for a bunch of "you're horrible, never write again" and instead got wonderful encouragements. I don't have time to reply to you all personally, so a huge group thanks.

Also, my apologies for any medical mistakes from now on. I tried to do some research but I'm not a doctor, and being a university student anything non-school related is very low on my priority list. I've tried to keep things realistic. The way Sam wakes up is actually real, a friend of mine's brother woke up that way. Half dead and with very little chance one minute and wide awake and choking the next.

And, since I haven't done one in a couple chapters: I don't own Sam and Dean, or Supernatural. I really, really wish I did and Kripke if you wanted to give me a Christmas present I wouldn't say no to the lovely boys.

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Sam was floating in a comfortable haze. The pain he remembered wasn't there, it was just blessed oblivion where nothing mattered much. Somewhere he could hear a faint beeping noise and the drone of a voice, but he couldn't make out the words. He thought a few times it was Dean, then told himself it couldn't be. Dean wasn't there, Krista had said he was gone, he had left and wasn't coming back. So it couldn't be Dean. He remembered Dean leaving, when Sam had gone to Stanford, he thought. _No, that wasn't Dean, that was me,_ he reminded himself, trying to make sense of his fuzzy memories. Nothing wanted to stay in his mind for long, each thought slipping away before he could fully grasp it. That was the only problem with wherever he currently was. He couldn't keep hold of a thought for very long, drifting along without thinking unless he tried really hard, which was just too much effort.

This time though he forced his mind back to what he was trying to think about only he couldn't remember what that was. _Oh, yeah. Stanford. Dean. Dean leaving. No, not Dean, me; I left. I went to Stanford and not Dean. _He had left, not Dean. Dean would never leave him. But why had Krista said he was gone?

He managed to hold onto the thought for a while longer, chasing it in circles as he tried to sort out what had happened and why Krista said Dean was gone. Once he thought of trying to reach that voice to find out who it was, but he didn't. Despite his reasoning and attempts to work things out, his mind kept latching onto what Krista had said. Dean was gone. It wasn't Dean and that was all that mattered. He wanted Dean, not whoever was talking. There was no point in trying to reach the voice if it wasn't his brother.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

"You know Sammy, you can wake up any time now. You've napped long enough. The nurses are taking bets on what colour your eyes are. Wouldn't want to disappoint them, now would you?" Dean rubbed a hand through his hair, grimacing when he used the wrong hand and ended up clunking himself upside the head with his cast, and gave the nurse scribbling on his brother's chart a tired smile, an older matronly woman, Sister Theresa he remembered. She smiled back and patted his shoulder.

"Come on, the nurses here are hot. Heather, the one that was just here, she's gorgeous. All Heathers are hot, but I think this one beats them all. Don't know how you can sleep with so many hot nurses around. You probably prefer it though. If you'd been awake you would have died of embarrassment with the sponge bath they gave you yesterday. Except for Sister Theresa," he added, attempting a grin. "Seriously, Sam, _Sister Theresa_. Like the nun on M*A*S*H. There are real nuns here, dude. That means you gotta wake up and help me. Me and nuns, Sammy, think about it. How dangerous is that?" He smiled again at Sister Theresa, who grinned back before leaving the cubicle. "Come on Sammy, what do you say? Will you come save your awesome big brother from the nuns?"

The only reply Dean got was the quiet whoosh of the ventilator and beep of the heart monitor. It'd been five days, and he was starting to get desperate. It was getting harder and harder to joke around, to keep the tough exterior he worked so hard to build up. He'd give anything for Sam to roll his eyes or tell him to grow up. Dr. Lacey had been in earlier and reported that Sam's heart rate was improving and his lung was a little better, but cautioned that his injuries were healing much too slowly and he still wasn't breathing on his own. Still, he had said, most people with Sam's degree of injury would be dead already, so while Sam's chances were still very low, it was a good sign.

"You hear that, Sammy?" Dean had said, stroking his brother's pale cheek. Sam would give him hell for doing that and right then it would be music to his ears because it would mean Sam was awake, not lying in a hospital bed hooked up to every machine imaginable, paler than the pillow his head rested on and looking impossibly small and frail. "That means you have to fight this, you need to wake up. I've been holding your hand, dude. I mean, serious chick-flick stuff. You know what you're missing out on? This emo crap is your thing, you're always trying to get me to join in and when I finally do you're playing Rip Van Winkle on me." But Sam hadn't woken up, and as the day wore on he still didn't, no matter how much Dean cajoled and bribed and talked.

He ran his hand through his hair again, this time with his good hand, and dragged it down his face with a grimace. He was exhausted and felt physically drained. He hadn't been able to eat or drink very much, only picking at the food or sipping at the coffee nurses occasionally brought him. He'd noticed their worried looks and had flat out refused once when Dr. Lacey had suggested he go home and rest. He'd taken a shower down the hall, but that was the farthest he'd been able to tear himself away.

Eventually however, the exhaustion became too much and Dean gave into it, slumping forward in his now regular position, with his head on Sam's bed, both hands holding his brother's like a lifeline. When he was fully out Sister Theresa came in and draped a blanket over his shoulders.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Sam didn't know how long he stayed in the haze but the voice he could hear droning in the background never wavered, a constant comforting and reassuring presence. It stopped sometimes, but it always continued again, and even though he couldn't understand the words it was comforting. Once in a while another voice would join the first and both would talk before the second voice left and it was just the first again. Sometimes he would disappear into the darkness where there wasn't anything and stay there for a while, and when he came back the voice was there again. It was an anchor for him, keeping him from drifting too far away and occasionally helping him think. _Wouldn't Dean love that, Sam. Always thinking, even when you can barely string two thoughts together you're thinking._ He still couldn't hold onto thoughts for long, but little by little and by anchoring himself with the voice, he kept himself from drifting for longer periods.

Slowly he became aware of other things, a whooshing sound alongside the faint beeping that had always accompanied the voice, and something gripping his hand, a gentle rubbing occasionally added to the grip. Sometimes something would brush his head and run down his face. He wanted to turn his head into whatever it was, but he couldn't move. In the haze his body wouldn't obey him, his mind disconnected from the rest of his body. It was a comforting feeling, strangely familiar. When he thought about it he thought it felt like Dean, but that couldn't be right. Dean wasn't there. But it felt like him, and the voice sounded like him when he concentrated on it.

It was difficult and took everything he had, but eventually he decided he needed to know, to find out if it really was Dean. Krista had said Dean was gone, he wasn't coming back and Sam remembered Dean leaving. Yet he knew Dean wouldn't leave him. Dean would never leave him. As he clung to that thought, determined not to let it slip away like it usually did, a new memory came to him. He remembered that Krista and the others didn't like Dean, they weren't the people he had thought they were. Maybe they had lied to him.

The memory gave him strength and the knowledge that it was Dean that was with him, holding his hand and talking to him, and had been all along. He began pushing out of the haze that was no longer comfortable but more like a prison, fighting to get to Dean. It was hard and he gave up several times. Each time he gave up though he'd listen to the voice, concentrating on it and the hand gripping his and try again. And each time he made it a little further. Things got a little less fuzzy and a little clearer. Sometimes he could almost make out the words the voice was saying, and the more he heard it the more he was convinced it was Dean.

When he finally broke the surface of the haze, he almost wished he hadn't. A wave of pain so intense hit him that he barely kept from falling back into it. It felt like he had been run over by a truck, no scratch that, two trucks....at least. Agony radiated from every part of his body and what he could see of the ceiling was spinning at a dizzying speed, dipping and looping around him. There was a band around his chest, tightening and constricting it and ratcheting his pain up to new levels. He was willing to say he'd never felt pain so bad in his life.

He tried to cry out but realized something was in his throat, choking him, keeping him from breathing. It wasn't what was causing the constricting feeling but it sure wasn't helping it either. He began choking, desperately trying to draw some air into his lungs and panicking when he couldn't, and suddenly the voice stopped. The anchoring pressure on his wrist was gone. Someone was shouting and people he didn't recognize were all around him, talking and moving and doing things that he didn't want them to do. He was suddenly scared, terrified beyond anything he remembered. He tried to call out for Dean, desperate to see his brother, but could only choke.

Then Dean was there, pushing two of the people away. The heavy weight returned to his hand and the gentle feeling on his head returned, and there was no mistaking the emerald green eyes that were staring down at him. He tried to say Dean's name again, but Dean was talking to him. "…..easy Sammy, I'm here. Just relax, you're ok. It's ok. You need to relax, let the machine breathe for you, don't fight it. You need it, just take it easy, it's ok."

And it was ok, Sam realized, because Dean was there. He'd always been there though Sam had doubted him. He couldn't breathe, the band was tightening around his chest and white hot pain was shooting through him, but it was ok. As long as Dean was there it was ok. So he gave in to the darkness that was pulling at him, no longer seeing it as a prison, not when Dean would be there was there.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

"So, Dean, the nurse tells me Sam tried to breathe on his own today."

Dr. Lacey's cheerful voice preceded him into the cubicle. Dean looked up hesitantly, blinking owlishly at the doctor from his place at Sam's side, nodding and trying to order his thoughts in is tired brain. He didn't say anything, preferring to wait to hear everything. He'd gotten his hopes up twice in the almost two weeks since Sam had been hurt only to have them shot down again, and frankly he was too exhausted to go through it again. Once Sam had moved his hand, squeezing slightly, and once his eyelids had fluttered. Each time the doctor had explained that they were just muscle contractions and that there really hadn't been any change. He'd always follow up with a reminder that Sam was holding his own and that most people wouldn't have made it so long, but Dean's rising hope had been summarily chopped back down and he couldn't take that disappointment again.

"That's a very good thing." Dr. Lacey finally said, smiling as he scanned Sam's chart. "His heart rate is still slow, but has stabilized nicely and he's tried to take a breath twice on his own today. His oxygen levels are nice and stable, too." He glanced at Dean. "I'd hold off on those goodbyes I told you to make."

"So, he's going to be ok? Then why hasn't he woken up?" Dean felt his abused hope spark slightly. He sat up straighter.

"He's still in a coma, unfortunately, but his stats are looking good. There's no guarantee but I am cautiously optimistic at this point." Dr. Lacey reached over and gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze. "His body has been through a severe trauma and he's suffering from a very severe concussion. There doesn't seem to be any brain damage, so I think the coma is his body's way of healing itself. It's not uncommon, really. We just need to give him some time." He tried to say more but a change in the beeping of the heart monitor stopped him. Both men turned to Sam, Dean leaping up and leaning over his brother, Dr. Lacey turning his attention to the monitors and machines.

Suddenly Sam's eyes flew open and after a short pause in which a pin drop could have been heard he began choking. "NURSE!" Dr. Lacey hollered, and the cubicle filled with people. Dean was pushed out of the way, shoved into the corner as people swarmed his brother's bed. Sam was struggling feebly, choking on the ventilator, his arms and legs jerking and flopping faintly. "Heart rate is rising, oxygen levels are dropping, we're going to lose him," someone was saying, while others chattered and hands moved frantically.

It suddenly hit Dean and he shoved forward, pushing two nurses out of his way. They tried to stop him but he shot a look at Dr. Lacey who nodded and held up a hand. Sam was panicking; he was probably terrified that he couldn't breathe. Gripping his hand and running his fingers through Sam's hair, Dean leaned into his brother's line of sight. "Sam, it's ok. You're in a hospital, I'm here. You need to take it easy Sammy, I'm here. Just relax, you're ok. It's ok. You need to relax, let the machine breathe for you, don't fight it. You need it, just take it easy, it's ok."

Sam's eyes stopped frantically searching the room and finally settled on his face, wide and terrified. The abject fear there ripped Dean up inside. He forced himself to smile, fighting the tears that were threatening and blurring his vision. "It's ok, you're ok little brother, it's ok." He kept up his litany of reassurances until Sam's monitors stopped their screeching. Then a nurse pushed something into the IV running into Sam's left hand and his eyes slowly slid closed. Dr. Lacey immediately stepped forward again and began checking monitors, looking under bandages and checking Sam over. The screeching and wailing of the machines had given way to a frantic beeping once Sam had started to calm down, and now they slowly faded back to steady beeps.

Slowly the nurses filed out until only Sister Theresa remained. Dr. Lacey straightened up from bending over Sam and grinned. Dean tried to grin back, but only managed a strained half smile that he suspected was more of a terrified grimace. His heart was pounding so fast he was sure it was trying to escape his chest. "It looks like Sam is going to make it." He said finally. "That was quite the wake-up. I wasn't expecting that at all and I need to run a few tests, but it looks like he's come out of the coma."

"Thanks." Dean managed as the Doctor gave him one last smile before slipping out, leaving a few instructions for the nurse. In no time the cubicle had quieted down. A couple times more the hiss of the ventilator would stutter and a loud whine would erupt from it, only to stop when a nurse hurried over and pressed a button. Each time Dean would jump and his hopes would jump with them. He knew the whine meant Sam had tried another breath on his own, which made the annoying sound music to his ears. He found himself eagerly waiting for each whine, returning the smile the nurse gave him every time. It told him Sam was getting better and he was finally starting to believe his brother would be alright.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **So the friends I'm writing this story for asked for some hurt Dean. The main request was hurt Sam, so I wasn't going to put it in, sticking to torturing him with guilt instead. Unfortunately one of the friends is a Sammy girl, and the other is a Dean girl. The Dean girl begged me so here it is. There will be a little more later as well.

A note to **Cassamy**: I don't speak Spanish, I'm sorry. Thank you for your review, but I can't read it.

And again, thanks for the reviews! They are very much appreciated and more would be even better!

* * *

The next morning, after a night interrupted intermittently by the wailing of the ventilator and another scare when Sam woke up and started choking, Dr. Lacey informed Dean they were going to try taking him off of the ventilator. They had been forced to sedate Sam after he woke up and Dean hadn't been able to calm him down enough, concerned he would do himself too much harm. "I don't want you to get your hopes up too high, there's a very strong chance we'll have to put him right back on it, but he's fighting it. At this point I think it would be best to take him off and give him a chance to try breathing on his own. It's no longer taking the stress off his damaged lungs, but adding to his stress and doing him more harm than good."

"Is that ok? I mean, is it safe? It won't hurt him if it doesn't work, will it?" Dean knew he was paranoid, but after two weeks of being told his brother was going to die and he should say goodbye, he didn't think he could handle it if something went wrong. It didn't help that he felt like crap, drained of energy and with his nerves worn down beyond belief.

"If it doesn't work we'll simply put him on the ventilator again and sedate him until his lungs are strong enough to handle being without it." Dr. Lacey spoke calmly, keeping eye contact with Dean to reassure him. "I'd rather not do that though, which is why I'm doing it this way." When Dean nodded, he signalled to the nurse who was standing by with an oxygen mask. "Normally we'd wake him up and make sure he was aware before doing this, but in Sam's case this way will be much less stressful for him." Working quickly but gently they disconnected the ventilator and removed the tubes in his nose and throat, replacing them with the oxygen mask.

A tense minute passed in which Dean clutched Sam's hand and watched his brother's chest, willing it to move. The heart monitor continued to beep steadily. Then Sam's chest lifted. It wasn't much, just a faint, shallow breath, but it was the best thing Dean had seen in days. For several minutes he stared at Sam's chest, his eyes following the faint rise and fall, glancing up at his brother's face to see the reassuring sight of his breath fogging the oxygen mask, completely oblivious to the doctor and nurse moving around him.

He jumped when Dr. Lacey laid a hand on his shoulder and turned to grin at the man. "He's breathing on his own." He was stating the obvious, but he couldn't help it. He was giddy with relief. It wasn't a phrase he thought had ever been applied to him, but giddy felt exactly right at the moment.

"Yes, he is." Dr. Lacy replied with a matching smile. "And I think that, barring any complications, he should make a full recovery. When he wakes up we'll run a few more tests to make sure there's no lasting damage. It'll be a slow, painful recovery, but with time he should be just fine." He gave Dean's shoulder another pat before leaving the brothers alone. When he was gone, Dean sat back in his chair and laid his head on the edge of the bed; his exhaustion was suddenly increased tenfold and he was too tired to even hold his head up anymore. Curling his casted hand around Sam's wrist he laid his other on Sam's chest, needing to feel the rise and fall, a reassurance that Sam was alive, and let his eyes close.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Sam was floating again. Dean's voice faded in and out, talking about almost everything. As Sam listened, comforted by the voice and relaxing on the constant sound of it, Dean talked about nurses and cars and hunts and nuns and for some reason the doctor in Paediatrics that was apparently having a tryst with the not-a-nun nurse from geriatrics. He latched onto that, using it like a rope to pull himself up out of the haze, wanting to ask Dean what he was doing talking about 'trysts'.

When he reached the top, he thought he was going to say Dean's name, but instead knew he was going to puke. Hands were suddenly on him, turning him sideways, pulling something off his face. Dean was there, too, rubbing his back and talking to him while he heaved his guts up. The puking hurt. Not just his throat, which felt like a million tiny knives were in it, but the rest of his body as well, a pain that made him throw up even more. Then the hands were rolling him back, a cloth was on his face wiping away the sweat and sick and tears. A cold sensation ran up his arm and he sank back into the haze, glad to get away from the pain heaving had woken up.

He relaxed in the haze for a while before surfacing again, only to repeat the same process as before. It happened over and over, becoming a never ending cycle. He'd pull himself up, only to throw up, which woke up the pain in his body, which caused him to throw up even more. After a while he didn't have the strength to surface anymore. Instead he just floated, relaxing on the medicine induced oblivion and listening to Dean talk until even that disappeared for a while.

The next time he woke, it was a lot different. Noises and feeling filtered into his consciousness as awareness came back gradually; the smell of antiseptic and the beep of a heart monitor broke into his peaceful oblivion, tugging him to wakefulness. Dean was still talking, his voice hoarse, and something uncomfortable covered his face. A muted pain all over his body told him he was definitely on the good stuff. He tried to move, to squeeze Dean's hand which he realized was in his, but his limbs felt like lead, refusing to move for him. Instead he tried to call Dean only to find his throat was too dry. His attempt ended up a moan that came out breathy and thin.

Dean must have heard it, though. Instantly Sam could feel his brother, knew he was leaning over him. The hand cradling his squeezed gently and another found its way to his hair, brushing his bangs out of the way and resting on his head. "Sammy, you awake?" The voice was gentle and Sam could hear the tremor in it. It made him want to wake up even more.

After a pause Dean started talking again, and this time Sam could clearly hear the desperation and fear in his tone. "Open your eyes, Sammy, come on," A pause and Dean squeezed his hand. "Please, Sammy, open your eyes. I need to see you open your eyes."

Dean's voice cracked on the last part, which was all the incentive Sam needed. His eyelids felt like they were glued together and weighted down with lead and it took everything he had, but he managed to get them open. Everything was blurry; he had to blink a few times before Dean's face came into focus, green eyes staring down at him, bright and brimming with tears. But also tired and strained, he noted, and something else he couldn't place.

"Hey Sammy," Dean whispered, squeezing his hand again and rubbing his thumb soothingly over Sam's temple. A tear slipped down his face, and Sam could feel how his hands were shaking. The unusual display of emotion notched Sam's fear up higher; Dean didn't ever look like that unless it was really bad, like dying bad. He frowned under the uncomfortable thing on his face he now realized was an oxygen mask and gave Dean a questioning glance. He really wanted to say something, but waking up seemed to have used up everything he had. He just didn't have the energy for words.

"Just go to sleep, Sammy, everything will be ok," he heard Dean whisper, then his brother shocked him by brushing a kiss, feather light, to his forehead. _Ok, something is seriously wrong_, Sam thought. Dean hadn't kissed him since he was four. He wanted to ask what was going on and fought sleep, but his eyelids closed fully before he could muster enough strength and sleep claimed him.

Once Sam's eyes closed and his breathing evened out in sleep, Dean sagged back in the chair in relief, letting out a shaky breath. He hadn't realized how scared he'd been until that moment, how badly he'd needed to see Sam's hazel eyes looking back at him when they weren't wide and terrified. Seeing it had made all the guilt, fear and worry hit home. Everything he had been feeling for the past two weeks had rushed back, full force, and hit him like a ton of bricks the minute Sam's eyes had blinked open. It had taken everything he had not to break down, and even trying with all his might he hadn't been able to keep his hands and voice from shaking, or resist the kiss to Sam's forehead. It was totally chick-flick, but he didn't care. He'd never been so close to losing Sam, and he was barely keeping it together. It was usually him in the hospital; he was the one who had always gotten hurt, not Sam. This was the first time his little brother had been badly hurt and it had shaken him to the core.

"I'm not leaving again, Sammy, I promise," he whispered, even though Sam was already asleep. It was more than a promise to Sam; it was a promise to himself. He needed to hear it just as much as he needed to say it. Maybe if he said it enough he'd feel less guilty for leaving and letting his brother get hurt.

He looked up when the curtain was pulled back and gave Dr. Lacey a tired nod, mentally and physically pulling himself together. He was sick of the worried looks and subtle hints, or not so subtle in Dr. Lacey's case, that he needed to take care of himself. He wished they'd spend the energy on Sam, not on him. "How is he?" the doctor asked, picking up the chart as he began checking the monitors.

"He woke up a minute ago."

The doctor smiled and nodded, scribbling an extra note on the chart. "That's good, very good. He should start waking up more now, for gradually longer periods as his body regains its strength. Don't be alarmed if he's confused or disoriented at first; after what his body has been through it's to be expected. His scans have all come back positive so I don't think there will be any permanent damage.

Dean had heard all of this already but it helped to hear it again. He nodded, still holding Sam's hand and watching the doctor check his brother over. "When can he leave the ICU?" he asked after a minute.

Dr. Lacey paused, thinking. "Well, his vitals are looking good and his breathing has improved. He had us worried when he kept throwing up, but the anti nausea medication seems to be working." He studied Sam a bit. "I think we can safely move him any time. How about you go get something to eat and grab a coffee, have a shower and when you get back we'll be ready to move him?" It was a bribe, plain and simple, but he was getting very worried about Dean. The young man was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He'd lost weight, too. He'd showered and shaved when the nurse had offered the use of a bathroom, and had eaten or drank a little of what Dr. Lacey had asked a nurse to take him, but after two weeks of constant strain he wasn't looking very good. He was worried Dean was very close to ending up in a bed next to his brother, and as it was he was planning on forcing the young man to sleep and submit to a round of IV fluids, even if it meant waiting for Dean to pass out, which was going to happen sooner or later. He was sure of it.

At the doctor's intense stare Dean knew he didn't have a chance of arguing. It didn't help that he figured he must look like hell. He'd been so worried about Sam he'd only left when they had forced him, threatening to ban him from his brother's side if he didn't take care of himself. "Yeah, ok. But you'll call me if he wakes up, right? And you won't move him until I get back?"

"I promise, now go eat, and maybe go outside. It's a beautiful day and I'm sure you could use some sun. I don't want to see you for at least an hour, understand?" His voice was stern, but he softened it with a smile. "We'll move Sam to a double room and you'll be able to use the extra bed to get some real sleep, not like you've been getting in that chair." That was the good thing about small town hospitals, he thought. Bar Harbour was a busy place during tourist season, but the hospital was small and he had been able to wrangle the double room and free use of the extra bed.

Sighing, Dean stood up and leaned over Sam, brushing his unruly chestnut locks off his forehead for the millionth time. "I'll be back Sammy, and then we'll spring you from this place, get you to a nice quiet room with a TV. That'll be nice 'cause dude, you're company sucks at the moment. I seriously need something to keep me amused while you snooze." He cracked lightly, then hesitated for a second before giving in again and brushing his lips across Sam's forehead again. Later he'd deny the kiss if anyone ever mentioned it and then beat them to a pulp for doing so, but right now he really needed it. Straightening up, he pulled his hand out of Sam's and nodded to Dr. Lacey, who was suspiciously busy with the IVs, and hurried out.

A nurse directed him to the cafeteria on the main floor and he made his way slowly there despite not being remotely hungry. Hospital cafeterias didn't have the best food. He filled a tray with jell-o, a ham and cheese sandwich, and the biggest coffee he could get. Spotting apple pie he grabbed a slice of that, too, earning him a grin from the lady behind the counter. Finding a table he sat down and ate, trying to take his time. Unfortunately he couldn't eat more than a bite or two of the sandwich and a couple of half-hearted forkfuls of apple pie. They sat like rocks in his stomach and tasted like sawdust, and fifteen minutes later he gave up. Still forty five minutes to go. He'd had a shower that morning when Sister Theresa threatened to have the janitorial staff hose him down, so taking the doctor's advice he made his way to the doors, stepping out into the bright sunshine and making his way to the car. An orderly had moved it to the long-term parking for him so it wouldn't get towed and he figured he should check on it. After all, he hadn't seen it for two weeks.

Reaching the gleaming black car he ran his hands over it, checking for any dings or scratches. Finding none he leaned on the warm hood, relaxing into the familiar lines and contours. The warm sun and warm comfort of his baby felt good, helping him control his exhaustion a little. After a few minutes he stood up, ignoring the vertigo that assaulted him briefly. He couldn't stay there; he wanted to be with Sam. Relieved as he was, he couldn't shake the nagging worry and fear that had plagued him since Pennsylvania.

There was still 30 minutes, though. It was a surprise to find when he looked at his watch that he'd been with the car for ten minutes, fifteen if he counted the walk out to the parking lot. He still had another half an hour to go. Damn.

Wracking his brain he tried to think of what else to do and hit on the gift shop. He'd find something to take up to Sam. When they were kids the few times they'd been in hospital they had always found a way to get each other something in the gift shop. For Sam he'd usually buy a stuffed animal or a colouring book, something to keep his little brother occupied. A colouring book was out of the question, but maybe a stuffed animal or something. Sam was probably too old for that kind of thing but a stuffed animal would still be fun.

Turning and making his way slowly back inside he followed the signs to the gift store and wandered through it, looking at everything. Brightly coloured balloons with various 'get well' messages, flowers and small potted plants, toys, cards, and various other gifts filled the shelves. He browsed through them, occasionally picking something up only to put it down again until he came to the stuffed animals. Sam had loved them as a kid. True, he wasn't a kid anymore, but the stuffed tortoise was cute. So was the grizzly bear, and the moose; or the dolphin, or maybe the killer whale. He picked up each one, only to put it down again when he spotted another. A wolf, an anteater, an elephant, horse, camel, okapi, and six kinds of dogs later, and he finally carried a large, lifelike grizzly bear that actually roared and a small elephant up to the cash.

"These are cute, are they for a family member?" the elderly lady asked him as she rang them in.

"My brother," Dean replied, handing the money over to her.

"He's one very lucky little boy, then."

Dean chuckled, the first laugh in days. "Actually, he's not very little. He's in his twenties."

"Well, then he's a very lucky big boy." The lady returned with a laugh.

Thanking her, Dean picked up the animals, tucking the grizzly under his arm and shoving the elephant in his pocket, then glanced at his watch. Amazingly the gift shop had taken just over twenty minutes; he could grab another coffee and head back to Sam's room, keeping the one hour condition Dr. Lacey had put on him.

Collecting a coffee from the stand outside the gift shop he hurried to the elevator, stepping inside and pushing the button. When the doors opened again he made his way through ICU, nodding a hello to the nurse Heather who was on duty and slid behind the curtain surrounding Sam's bed. Dr. Lacey was already there, along with an orderly, a nurse and a gurney. "There you are, we're just about ready." Dr. Lacey eyed the stuffed bear. "That's quite a bear there, I see you found the gift shop." His eyes twinkled when he looked at Dean.

"How is he?" Dean asked, moving back to the side of the bed, hiding the bear behind his back in embarrassment.  
"He's fine, the same as when you left, and now that you're here we'll go ahead and move him."

The staff worked quickly and efficiently, easing Sam from the bed to the gurney, hooking him up to portable machines. Within minutes Dean was walking beside the gurney, his hand once again firmly attached to Sam's as it was wheeled out of ICU, down a corridor and into the elevator, then down another corridor, finally ending up in a small room with two beds, both unoccupied. The process of getting Sam onto the gurney was repeated in reverse while Dean stood by the window. Once he was settled, the orderly wheeled the gurney out and Dr. Lacey and the nurse got him hooked up to all the machines again, re-attaching wires and hanging fresh IV bags. They removed the IV in his neck and the one in his left hand, leaving only the two on his right arm.

"There, he's all set. I'll leave you two alone for a bit and come back to check on Sam later. If he wakes up, just page the nurse and she'll call me."

"Thanks, doc," Dean said, pulling a chair over and settling into it beside Sam's bed. Dr Lacey just nodded and left, pausing at the door to watch the brothers for a minute, smiling gently at Dean, who was once again holding Sam's hand and stroking his forehead.

A few hours later his back started to protest the hard hospital chair. "Damn, Sammy, these chairs suck," he muttered. Pushing up to his feet he had to grab the bedrail to keep from falling over as a wave of dizziness hit him, much worse than the one by the Impala earlier. "Woah, that was different." Waiting for it to pass, he shook himself and took a step towards the bathroom, intending to splash some water on his face. His body, however, had other ideas. The minute his hand left the stability of the rail the room dipped again. Dean reached blindly for something to hold onto as everything swam around him. Without warning the floor rushed up to meet him with a resounding smack.

A hand on his shoulder jolted Dean awake. His instincts had him leaping to his feet and whirling to face whoever it was, but the realization hit that he was lying down, covered in a blanket and wearing scrub pants and a white t-shirt. His head throbbed and he was exhausted and slightly nauseous, though the exhaustion was nothing new. He looked around blearily once the room stopped spinning, finally settling on with Dr. Lacey, hands held up in a placating gesture. "Whoa, Dean, it's just me. I didn't mean to startle you there."

Dean ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. "Sorry, it's ok. I must have dozed off." He glanced to Sam, checking to make sure nothing had changed, then looked at his watch. It was a shock to see that it was late morning. He'd slept all night. Then he noticed the pinch in his arm, glancing down to see an IV, and the fact of where he was and what he was wearing sank in fully. He hadn't slept, they'd sedated him. No, wait. He hadn't been sedated. He'd passed out. He remembered being dizzy and the floor, and then nothing.

"I came to check on you, and to tell you we need to take Sam for a few tests, nothing major, just routine. Some x-rays to make sure his chest is healing properly, and an MRI. It'll take about an hour, maybe a little more. Why don't you go for another walk?" Dr. Lacey tried to sound casual, but Dean could see the guilty look on the man's face and glared at him. After a minute more of trying to look innocent, the man caved and sighed. "I'm sorry, but we had to get some fluids and liquid nutrients into you," he explained. "The nurse found you passed out on the floor last night. Your body finally gave out on you. You've got a mild concussion from hitting the floor and a nice goose egg on the back of your head. I sedated you to make sure you got some rest."

Dean didn't answer, just reached over and gave the IV in his hand a tug. Dr. Lacey reached out and stopped him. "Dean, please. At least finish the IV. After that, you can go for a walk and get something to eat in the cafeteria." He had the sense to look apologetic, even if he wasn't feeling it. "I'm only worried about you. It's been a very hard two weeks and the human body can only take so much." After a pause in which he looked like he was debating, he added "and then I'd like to admit you for observation for a few days."

"No."

"Dean, please," the doctor repeated. "You're here twenty four seven anyway, what can it hurt? If anything it will only make things easier for you."

Dean nodded, giving in. A walk actually sounded good, and he had to make a couple of phone calls anyway. Pastor Jim and Bobby had both phoned him but he hadn't gotten back to them yet. "Yeah, sure, fine." He gave in, slumping back against the bed. He was still ticked off but he liked Dr. Lacey and couldn't fault him for doing what he thought was right. And he had a point that Dean was there all the time anyway. Being admitted didn't really change anything.

"Good, you should be good to go in about thirty minutes, I'll send a nurse in to take the IV out and bring you a robe to wear."

Half an hour later, as promised, a nurse came in with a robe and his boots. He'd argued for his clothes but all he'd gotten back was his cell phone and his coat. Apparently Dr. Lacey was making sure he stayed put, though if he thought keeping Dean's jeans and shirt would stop him the man was sadly mistaken. After the IV was out and the nurse had, embarrassingly enough, helped him put his shoes on since bending over made him dizzy, he moved to Sam's bed. Patting Sam's hand and whispering that he'd be back in a bit, he headed for the elevators and outside. Once out the doors he pulled out his cell phone and made a few calls, apologizing to Pastor Jim and Bobby and explaining what had happened. Both offered to come to the hospital and tried to get him to bring Sam to stay with them when he was released, but Dean thanked them and declined. Sam was doing fine and he already had plans for when he was released.

He'd talked to the hotel owner they'd helped when the man had called about their room and their belongings still in it, and after explaining what had happened the man had offered them one of the small cabins his hotel also offered to guests. He'd also had their room cleaned out by a trustworthy employee. The man had felt awful to find out Sam had been the man injured in the hiking accident on land that turned out to belong to him. They had known the slope there had been weakened after a bad storm a few months before but hadn't thought it was that bad. He had insisted on paying the hospital bills and offered them the cabin for a month when Sam was released. For once the Winchester luck was in their favour and Dean had quickly accepted.

By the time he hung up it had been more than an hour and his headache was throbbing painfully behind his eyes. Each man had wanted a detailed explanation and it had taken a bit of convincing to keep them from rushing to Maine. He still wasn't sure Pastor Jim wouldn't be coming. Then Pastor Jim had insisted he call Caleb, which had taken even longer. So by the time he'd grabbed a coffee instead of going to the cafeteria and was walking back to the elevators, it'd been closer to two hours. Dean was a little jumpy, hoping Sam hadn't woken up by himself and that nothing had happened. His agitation grew as the elevator carried him to Sam's floor. When they opened and he stepped out, he was met by the sound of wailing monitors and nurses running into a room down the hall. Sam's room. He took off running.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **A huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed, you're all awesome, and a big encouragement!

**Disclaimer**: As usual, I don't own the boys even though I wish I did *g*

* * *

Something warm was on his face, contrary to the rest of his body which was cold. Not so cold that he was shivering, but that kind of dead cold that is just cold enough to be uncomfortable. "D'nn," he whispered, knowing his brother would make him warm. Blinking his eyes open, he cringed and shut them again when he found that the warmth on his face was sunlight pouring in through a window. The brightness sent bolts of pain through his eyes, stabbing into his brain. He turned his head and opened his eyes again, blinking the sunspots out of his vision. "D'nnnn"

Someone approached, but it wasn't Dean. "Hey, honey. It's good to see you. They said you just came out of Intensive Care, so we were finally allowed in to visit. I called a couple of times before this and they always told me it was family only allowed in to see you." Krista appeared in his line of vision, smiling down at him. "They said you were hurt pretty bad, we didn't think you'd survive. Imagine our surprise when I was told you were awake and out of ICU. You must have been lonely here, all by yourself." She motioned to something behind her and Justin and Jonathan appeared, both smiling at him, but even though he couldn't remember why their looks just didn't seem sincere.  
"Nuh, D'nnnn," he whispered, shaking his head. He hadn't been alone, Dean had been there. And he didn't want to see them. He wanted Dean. He didn't know where his brother was, but he wanted him.

"No, honey, Dean's not here remember? He's not here." Krista stroked his forehead, pushing his bangs out of his face. Her hand brushed the stitches at his hairline making him wince; he shook his head, jerking away from her hand. Everything was so fuzzy it was hard to think, but he knew he didn't want Krista or the others there. He wanted his brother.

"D'nnnn" he tried to yell despite how much it hurt; he only succeeded in a slightly louder whisper that tore at his tender throat. Somewhere behind him the steady beeping that was a constant sound increased frantically as he started panicking and knew he needed to calm down, but he needed Dean more. Tears escaped to course down his cheeks. He remembered waking up with Dean there, but Krista said he wasn't. Yet he knew Dean had been there, so where was he? It was all too confusing; his brain couldn't handle it, refusing to clear enough to sort out the facts.

"Hey, honey, Sam. Settle down, you need to settle down." Krista was almost yelling now, enunciating each word again like he was stupid. The hands she put on his arms were cold and pressed down, hurting his shoulder. He shrugged them off and tried to sit up, desperate to see Dean. His movements caused a wave of pain to radiate out of his abdomen and pelvis and he cried out.

Then other people were there, nurses telling him to take it easy and trying to calm him. He ignored them, wanting his brother, needing his brother. And suddenly Dean was yelling his name, pushing nurses out of the way. A warm, familiar hand was on his, squeezing it.

Still struggling, Sam rolled his head around until he was pulled into a sitting position. It hurt, God it hurt, fire erupting in his belly and chest, but warm hands were wrapped around him, one across his back and the other pushing his head down to rest on a shoulder. Sam inhaled the smell through the oxygen mask strapped to his face, a mixture of leather, gunpowder and sweat that was Dean and reached his good arm around to grasp the back of Dean's jacket, fisting the leather in a death grip.

Slowly a litany of words filtered into his panicked mind. "Hey, it's ok, it's ok. I'm here, you're ok, it's ok. Just breathe, relax, it's ok." And Sam did, because Dean was there. Slowly his breathing calmed as he concentrated on matching it to the even rise and fall of the chest he was pressed against. His body melted into his brother and his eyes started to droop. But he forced them open.

"D'nnn….d'n go." he whispered, then let his eyes close. As they did, he felt something wet hit his face and the hand on his neck squeeze gently. "I won't, I promise," was the last thing he heard.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Dean didn't think he'd ever forget the sight of his brother flailing feebly in the hospital bed when he'd rounded the corner, monitors wailing and Sam's hoarse cries of his name filling the room. Tears had been soaking Sam's face and the three people Dean wanted to see least of all had been in the room. He'd just heard Krista tell Sam that he wasn't there.

He'd pushed past the two nurses, briefly sparing a thought for the fact that he seemed to have developed a habit of shoving nurses out of the way recently, and done the only thing he could think of to calm Sam. He'd dropped onto the edge of the bed and scooped Sam into his arms, wrapping his brother in a hug. By the flinch and pained gasp he knew it had hurt, there was a reason Sam had been kept lying flat the doctor had explained, but Dean didn't think anything else would help. Besides, he figured more damage would be done if Sam kept flailing around. He'd started talking, reassuring his brother he was there and everything was ok.

Eventually Sam had relaxed, his body going slack and his breathing slowing from the pained, panicked gasps to wheezy, slightly shallow breaths. The sobs and cries for him had quieted, but he'd stayed that way, rocking slightly until he was sure Sam was completely relaxed. The faint and slurred "don't go" had surprised him, unravelling his already frayed nerves. "I won't I promise," he whispered, feeling the tears he'd been holding back for two weeks give way. Sam fell asleep then but he kept rocking, his face buried in Sam's hair until he got himself under control.

Only when he was sure it wouldn't wake Sam and he realized everyone was still there did he gently ease his brother back down. A tug on his coat made him frown. Sam's hand was gripping the leather so tightly he wouldn't be surprised if there were nail prints dug into it. He let out a breath and carefully shrugged out of the coat, deciding to let Sam keep it for the time being. The minute it was slack, Sam mouthed something and tugged it closer to himself, wrapping his arm around it like a security blanket.

The nurse that was still there, an older nun named Sister Mary Catherine Dean remembered, gave a motherly cluck as she went about checking Sam over, fixing tubes and wires and writing things down. "Now if that isn't the sweetest thing. I take it you raised the boy?"

Dean swiped at his eyes and reached out to wipe Sam's face with the cloth Sister Mary Catherine held out to him. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"Honey, I may be a nun, but I recognize that look. He's got a death grip on your coat, like it's his blankie, and the way you came barrelling in here like a mama bear tells me all I need to know." She patted Dean's cheek and checked Sam over quickly, then reached out to rearrange the leather coat, draping it over Sam like a blanket. When she was satisfied she turned around to face the three people standing in the room. The tenderness was replaced by anger as she glared at them. "Now, who the hell are you and what are you doing upsetting patients?"

Dean had almost forgotten them, but turned to pin them with a look that most people found terrifying. It worked, and they paled under it combined with the nurse. Jonathan actually looked like he was going to faint, staring at Dean wide eyed.

"We came to see Sam." Krista squeaked finally, her eyes glued to Dean's, holding up a gaudy bouquet of flowers and balloons. "The front desk told us he'd been moved to a room and could have visitors." She shifted nervously. "We didn't know Dean was here, he'd left before Sam got hurt and we thought we'd come keep him company."

The door swung open before Dean could reply, admitting a worried looking Dr. Lacey. He stopped and stared at the two groups, one terrified and the other angry. "What's going on here? The duty nurse paged me and said something had happened to Sam."

"We were just working that out." Dean growled taking a step towards Jonathan, Krista and Justin. "Sam's so-called friends here stopped by while I wasn't here. They told Sam I was gone."

Dr. Lacey frowned, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the three people. "You were with Sam, when he was hurt." His frown deepened. "But you told the paramedics Dean had left, and that you didn't know him or how to contact him. We were lucky Sam had his phone or we wouldn't have been able to find you." His tone was accusatory and he glanced at Dean with the last part.  
"They what?" Dean demanded, his voice dropping to that dangerous, low tone that Sam always said could scare a hellhound back to hell, advancing again. He was stopped by a hand on his arm. Shrugging it off he glared daggers at Justin, his voice dropping to a quiet growl. Sam was the one who did loud and yelling. He just got dangerously quiet. "Sam gave you my phone number the first day, just in case." He remembered that clearly; he hadn't been very happy about Sam giving out his number, but had gone with it anyway. His little brother was going to be spending time with them and they needed a way to get hold of him if they needed to.

Hands returned to his arms, pulling at him, and he realized he'd grabbed Justin by the front of the shirt and slammed him up against the wall. Blinking he dropped the man, letting him sag against the wall and stalked back to Sam's bed. Sitting on the edge so his hip touched Sam's, he reached for his brother's hand and grasped it tightly, using the contact to calm himself down.

"We didn't think you'd want to see him, he did say you'd walked out on him. And we didn't think you'd really care." Jonathan said in a defensive voice though Dean was pleased to hear a tremor in it. "You walked out on him, remember."

"Yeah, I know that, thank you." Dean replied sarcastically without looking up from Sam's sleeping face, guilt tightening his chest. "Get out. If I see you here again you'll regret it." His voice was tight, barely controlled anger thrumming through it and was all he could do not to say "I'll kill you" instead of "you'll regret it".

"I'll escort them to the nurse's station and have security show them out." Dr. Lindsay said in an equally angry voice. The door opened and closed before someone touched his shoulder tentatively.

"You ok, honey? You look kind of pale, there. Why don't you get back in bed? How's your wrist, did you hurt it any?"

Sister Mary Catherine's voice worked to pull Dean out of the red haze of anger he was caught in. Looking up, he took a deep breath and grimaced when the room spun a little bit. His hands were shaking, his headache renewing its pounding behind his eyes. "Shit. I'm sorry about that, I – "

She cut him off with a shake of her head. "No apologies necessary, I understand and I'm sure Dr. Lacey will too. Worry will do that to you, and I can see you worry a lot about Sam, don't you?"

Dean nodded again, ignoring his own bed that Sister Mary Catherine was waiting for him to get into and deciding he liked the woman immensely. For some reason he didn't feel like he had to keep his walls up with her; he could say what he really thought. It was rare he found anyone he could be like that with, but somehow the tiny nun standing in front of him had succeeded in working past his walls. "It's my job to take care of him, he's my responsibility," he said simply. A thought occurred to him and he quirked a shaky smile. "You said hell."

"Well he's going to be just fine. The doctor will be back once he's handed those idiots over to security to check Sam over, and you too. How about you rest until then? It's been a long day. I'll have someone bring you in something to eat." Sister Mary Catherine patted his arm again before leaving, pausing at the door to return his grin with a cheeky one of her own. "I'll just have to do a penance for that little slip of the tongue, won't I?"

When the door closed behind her, Dean leaned forward to rest his head on Sam's briefly before lying down on the bed with his brother. He didn't have the energy to move, the adrenalin that had been coursing through him leaving in a rush, leaving him sore and boneless and exhausted. But he didn't fall asleep like he had every other time. Instead he rubbed circles on Sam's hand with his thumb and thought about what Jonathan had said.

It was what had been running through his mind since he'd gotten the call from Dr. Lacey back in Pennsylvania. He had been so angry at Sam for the way his friends had treated him, which was why he'd walked out. He had needed to get away from it. But if he hadn't walked out Sam wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed, bruised and broken. It was his fault. If he'd been there, gone hiking with them, Sam wouldn't have fallen. Or he could have kept Sam from going hiking at all. Either way, Sam wouldn't be hurt. It was his job to take care of Sam and he'd failed, big time. He'd almost lost his brother, all because of his stupid ego; because he'd gotten mad that three pompous jerks didn't like him.

His thoughts were interrupted almost three hours later by Dr. Lacey returning. "Those three won't be back, I told security not to let them back in; I don't appreciate people upsetting my patients." He assured Dean as he moved to check Sam over, not commenting on the way Dean was laying, or where. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to get back, I had an emergency with another patient."  
"Good. And, uh, listen…I'm sorry for freaking out there…" Dean began awkwardly, not bothering to move from his position on the bed. Dr. Lindsay held up a hand.  
"Don't apologize. They should have told me they knew how to contact you. It would have saved a lot of trouble. They had no right to come in here and upset my patients, so they deserved it."

Nodding, Dean watched the doctor move around, following him with half-lidded eyes. "The nurse said you lifted Sam up into a sitting position?" Dr. Lindsay asked, easing the blanket and coat aside, smiling at the coat. He lifted the bandage covering the stitches from Sam's surgery and palpated his abdomen, then carefully felt around Sam's pelvis.

"Yeah, I didn't hurt him, did I?" Dean asked, suddenly worried and alert. He knew it had hurt Sam.

"No, I don't think so. Everything feels fine and his stitches aren't ripped." The doctor tugged the blanket back over Sam and moved to the chart, scribbling yet more notes on it. By the time Sam was out of there, they'd have a novel written about him, Dean mused. The chart was set back in place and Dr. Lacey moved to stand beside Dean. "Now how about you? How are you feeling?" he asked. Pulling out a flashlight he checked Dean's pupils and prodded the back of his head. "Any dizziness or nausea?"

"I'm ok, just tired." Dean replied, lying still for the examination. He would move in a minute, once he mustered enough energy.

"Good, that's good. Why don't we wake Sam up? I think he's slept long enough, and after all the excitement around him, I think I'd like to finally meet him." Dr. Lacey smiled at Dean before bending over Sam and tapping his face lightly. "Sam? Sam, can you hear me? It's time to wake up. Sam? Wake up for us now." He called. Sam's eyelids flickered and he moved his head away from the tapping finger, but didn't wake. "You try, he's more likely to respond to you." He said to Dean.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Someone was tapping his face and calling his name, the irritating sound trying to pull him out of sleep. Which was exactly what the voice wanted, he realized. It was telling him to wake up. But he didn't want to wake up; he was tired and wanted to sleep.

The voice stopped and another one took its place. Dean. That was Dean, he recognized, telling him to wake up. If Dean wanted him to wake up then he'd have to, he actually wanted to as long as his brother was doing the asking. So he did.

His eyelids were heavy but he forced them open, blinking and closing them again when the sun caused pain to shoot through his head. Dean said something to someone he couldn't see while moving to block the sunlight that was falling on his face. The blinds closed and the light turned off so that he was able to open his eyes.

"Hey there Sleeping Beauty, it's about time you woke up. How do you feel?" Dean was bending over him and, for some reason, sitting beside him on the bed looking like he'd been lying down there.

Sam thought about that for a minute. He realized he didn't really know. He remembered waking up a few times, but didn't think he'd ever thought about how he felt so he took a minute to take stock of his body. Everything hurt, a faint throb pulsing through him. The pain wasn't bad and he felt really out of it and thinking was hard, which told him he was on the good drugs, but while most of it was a general ache he could feel slightly more concentrated pain in his leg, chest and stomach, and his head. The worst pain was in his pelvis, pulsing out when he shifted and making his breath hitch.

"I'm ok," he whispered finally. "Thirsty."

"Try saying that when you don't look like death warmed over there, Casper," Dean replied with a grin from where he sat on the bed. He reached for something and a cup appeared in Sam's line of vision. Dean gently lifted his head up while someone pulled the oxygen mask off his face, and a spoonful of ice chips was slipped into his mouth. Sam let the coolness ease his dry, sore throat, the trickle of cold water sliding down it feeling like heaven. When they were melted, he gave his brother a significant look. Dean obliged by feeding him another mouthful. "That's enough for now, the nice doctor wants to talk to you," he said, making Sam realize they weren't alone.  
The doctor, a young man Sam figured to be in his mid thirties, leaned over him and smiled. "Hazel eyes, huh? The nurses will be delighted, they've been taking bets on what colour." At Sam's blush he laughed, then turned serious again. "It's good to see you awake, you had us all pretty worried, Sam. I'm Dr. Lacey."

"How long?" Sam rasped, his voice a bit stronger after the ice chips. When Dean and the doctor exchanged a look, Sam frowned, suddenly worried that there was something seriously wrong that they didn't want to tell him. "How long?" he repeated, this time with an edge of panic in his voice. The monitors picked up their pace, the beeping speeding up accordingly as his anxiety rose.

"Hey, take it easy, everything is ok, Sam." Dean soothed, looking concerned while Dr. Lacey's eyes had fixed on the monitors. "Two weeks, though you've been in and out for the last couple days." Dean replied finally, after a nod from the doctor. Sam was shocked. He'd been out of it for two weeks?

Dean obviously saw his confusion. He rested his hand on Sam's forearm. "Like Dr. Lacey said, you had us pretty worried." Briefly Sam's hazy brain flashed images through his mind of Dean hugging him, a hand brushing his forehead, Dean's worried face, and scariest of all Dean kissing him on the forehead. He had a feeling worry didn't begin to describe it if his memory was right.

Dr. Lacey was moving around now, checking things and prodding Sam. "Tell me when it hurts, ok Sam?" When his hands touched his stomach and ran down towards his right hip, Sam gasped and tried to jerk away. The hands moved off him and Dr. Lacey's face appeared in his line of sight. "That'll be painful for a while. You did a number on yourself. It probably really hurts your ribs to lie down, but sitting up will hurt a lot more," He explained. "We'll gradually sit you up more and more over the next week or so."

Frowning, Sam tried to sit up, but more pain shot through his stomach and chest and he sank back down with another gasp. "You have to lay flat for now, don't try to move." The doctor's voice said from somewhere next to him. A moment later the head of the bed eased up a fraction, enough that he could see more than just the ceiling, and another pillow slid under his head to prop it up slightly. By rolling his head he had a pretty good view of the entire room, though the movement sent everything spinning and his empty stomach did a flip.

Dr. Lacey was standing at the foot of the bed again, watching him. When Sam caught his eye he reached for a chair and sat down, moving up to sit near his waist. "So, I figure you may want to know what's going on. You feel up to it?"

"Yeah, I guess." Sam replied after a minute, pushing through the drug fog clouding his brain. He wanted to go back to sleep; it was hard to keep his eyes open, but really wanted to know what had happened. Dean moved around and got more comfortable, ice chips still in hand. "Thirsty first," he whispered. Dean smiled and dug into the cup with the spoon, feeding him a mouthful while the doctor reached over to move the oxygen mask aside.

Once they were settled, Sam sucking on the ice chips and Dean sitting on the bed, one hand still holding Sam's, the Doctor started the explanation.

"First, how much do you remember, Sam?"

"Umm, not much," Sam replied, swallowing the last of the ice and trying to think. "I was hiking with some friend…I fell?" He didn't remember much and the drugs in his system weren't helping. "Just bits after that, it's all kind of fuzzy. Krista told me Dean wasn't here, and… everything else is just flashes." His voice was little more than a whisper, punctuated by wheezing breaths. It hurt to talk and took him a good two minutes just to get those few words out.

Beside him Dean let out what sounded like a growl and gripped his hand tighter, but it was the doctor who spoke. "The path collapsed under you and you fell into a gorge. From the looks of things you hit a few trees on the way down," he said. "Your injuries were severe. Your pelvis, Tibia, Fibula and ankle are broken; you suffered severe internal injuries including a torn kidney and ruptured spleen that we were able to repair surgically, along with massive bruising to your abdomen, particularly your liver. A branch punctured your shoulder dislocating the joint and causing blood loss and damage to the muscles. You also suffered a severe concussion and four broken ribs, two of which punctured your right lung. With the internal bleeding, blood pooled in your chest cavity causing what's called a hemopneumothorax, or a collapsed lung caused by internal bleeding. You slipped into a coma, and it was pretty close for a while. To be honest I didn't think you would survive."

Dean's grip had tightened on his hand while the doctor had been talking until it was almost painful. Sam didn't blame his brother, if it had been the other way around he'd be a basket case. As it was, he didn't know what to say. Looking up at Dean he found his bother staring at him, a fierce look on his face. At least now he knew what had scared Dean so much that his brother had been so touchy-feely and emotional.

"We're monitoring your liver and kidneys, I'm a bit concerned about a small bit of bleeding that still hasn't resolved itself, and I've booked you into surgery to repair your shoulder in a couple of days." Dr. Lacey patted Sam's leg. "It all sounds bad, and you are pretty banged up, but with some time and a little physiotherapy for your leg and shoulder you should heal without any lasting effects"

Sam just nodded, at a loss for words. "Thanks." He whispered finally.

Clearing his throat, Dr. Lacey stood up. "I'll leave you two alone for a bit. Sam, I'm going to ask a nurse to bring you something to eat, just something simple. I want you to try eating, and drink a bit of water. If you need anything just press the call button. I'll be back in the morning and we can talk again. Dean, I want you to rest, in your own bed. The nurse is going to bring in another IV that I want you to have too, just as a precaution."

When the door closed behind the doctor, Sam gripped Dean's hand tighter. "I'm sorry," he whispered, then frowned as Dr. Lacey's comment to his brother sank in. What IV? His own bed? "You ok?"

Surprisingly Dean shook his head. "No, Sam, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left." He shook his head again. "But don't worry about that right now, we'll talk about it later, I promise. I'm fine, don't worry about me; just rest."

Sam was too surprised that Dean wanted to talk later to argue and sought some way to change the subject. He really wanted to stay awake and needed something to help. He found it when he squeezed his free hand and found it was clutched around something. A glance down told him it was Dean's coat, half of which was draped over him while his arm was curled around the other half, his fist gripping the back of it tightly. "Uh, Dean? Why am I holding your coat?"

Dean grinned. "According to Sister Mary Catherine it's your blankie." His eyes danced with laughter, but turned serious again a moment later. "Your friends came to visit a few hours ago. The doctor had taken you for some tests, and I wasn't here when you came back. Krista told you I wasn't here." He ran a hand over his face, one Sam noticed for the first time was covered by a caste. "I came back while you were freaking out. You calmed down, but fell asleep holding onto my coat." He grinned at the end. "So the nurse was right, it is a blankie."

Sam grimaced, not at the teasing but at the mention of his friends. Everything was so fuzzy still, the painkillers he was on muddling his thinking, but he remembered their fight and the reason for it, and that Dean had left because of him. "I don't remember that, just Krista telling me you were gone. Dean, I'm sorry, I should have seen them for what they were," he started, only to be stopped by Dean.

"I said we'll talk about it later, Sammy. For now, just forget it." He tugged at his coat and reached for something on the table. With another grin, he held out very large stuffed grizzly bear. "How 'bout we trade? You take the bear, I'll take my coat back." He squeezed the bear, causing it to let out a life-like roar of fury.

Sam laughed, though it ended up being a breathy sort of moan, and let Dean tuck the bear in beside him under the blanket. His good arm kept a firm grip on the leather coat. He almost felt like he was five again, tucked into a hospital bed with Dean's coat and a stuffed animal after having his appendix removed. Maybe it was the drugs, but he didn't really mind. It felt safe and comfortable.

"I'm keeping the coat, though. I'm cold and it's warm." He was lying. He was a little cold but a blanket would have worked just as well to fix that. He just couldn't make himself let go of Dean's coat yet. It was a comfort he wasn't willing to part with. His eyes drifted closed despite his attempts to keep them open, and he heard Dean sigh dramatically.

"Fine, but I'm keeping the elephant."

He managed one more thought, wondering what Elephant Dean was talking about, before he drifted off.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **As usual, thanks to everyone who reviewed! You're all very encouraging and it's great to hear from you. I'm glad so many people like my story!

**Disclaimer**: *sigh* sadly, they are not mine. Kripke didn't remember my birthday.

* * *

"So, when can I get out of her?"

Dean sighed, sharing an exasperated look with Dr. Lacey before shaking his head. His brother still couldn't breathe without help yet, he spent his days either high as a kite or sound asleep, yet he wanted to leave. "Sam, we went over this already. You go when the doctor says you can go."

Sam frowned at his brother before turning to Dr. Lacey, unconsciously tightening his hand in Dean's coat, his other, injured, arm wrapped awkwardly around the grizzly bear, fighting through the cloud that seemed to permanently inhabit his brain. He didn't even notice what he did with the coat and bear, but since he'd woken up three days earlier he hadn't let either object leave his hands.

"It's only been three days, Sam."

"Doctor?"

The doctor looked from one brother to the other, obviously trying to decide which one to side with. They were both stubborn. Dean had submitted to one day of treatment before signing himself out AMA, and now Sam wanted out three days after waking up from a coma. Eventually he gave Sam an apologetic look, deciding to go with his patient's best interests. "I'm sorry, Sam, but I have to agree with Dean. It's only been three days since you woke up. Before that you spent two weeks in a coma." He held up a hand to stop the protests when the youngest Winchester opened his mouth. "If I let you go, you'd only be back in her in a few hours. Your lung is far from healed; every time we try blocking the chest tube it collapses again, and don't tell me you don't need that oxygen because I've seen you try to breathe without it."

Sam frowned harder, but gave the doctor points for that one. He still wore an oxygen mask; they had tried a nasal cannula, but it hadn't given him enough oxygen to keep him from wheezing painfully. According to Dean his lips had been blue before they had changed him back. "So when the tube comes out, I can leave?"

"No, you can leave when you're told you can."

Dr. Lacey gave Dean a look that asked him to be patient, and turned back to Sam. "Unfortunately no, though that is obviously the main issue at the moment; I'm still concerned about your kidneys and liver. The most recent tests are coming back much better but there is still some blood and significant pain. I'm considering going back in and repairing the tear in your liver surgically since it's not healing on its own satisfactorily enough. And your pelvis needs more time to heal before you can even think of moving around. The break was minor and it's healing quite well, but you're nowhere near ready to leave. It's going to take some physiotherapy before you can handle the crutches, too." He paused, thinking; judging by the look on Sam's face the young man needed a timetable. "We'll talk about it again in a few days, how about that?" In his mind a few days wouldn't change anything, he really wanted to keep Sam for at least two more weeks, yet doubted that was going to happen.

Sighing, Sam let his head flop back and stared up at the ceiling, his body language telling the two other men that he had given in. He did have to admit that Dr. Lacey was right. The attempt to replace the oxygen mask with a cannula wasn't something he wanted to experience again, the memory of how difficult it had been to breathe still fresh in his mind. He tightened his grip on Dean's jacket, letting the feel of the leather ease his discomfort, and closed his eyes. And he still couldn't sit up, his abdomen screaming in agony every time they forced him too. It was only for a few minutes at a time, but each one left him sweating and ready to pass out. And when they raised his bed a bit after each exercise it was hours before his body adjusted and the pain eased. If he was honest with himself, he wasn't ready to leave. He just hated hospitals.

And speaking of sitting up, Sam groaned when Dr. Lacey set his chart aside and motioned to Dean. He sent Dean what he knew was a pleading look, but Dean just shrugged and reached for him.

"Ok Sam, we're going to sit you up again. You know the routine. Let us do the work, you just relax."

Nodding, Sam gripped Dean's hand tightly in one hand while Dr. Lacey arranged himself on the other side, working around the sling his arm was in, and braced himself as the two men slid their other hands under his back and eased him to a sitting position. The minute he was moved agony shot out from his pelvis and stomach, his shoulder tensed painfully, and his ribs screamed in protest. Squeezing his eyes shut he suppressed the scream he wanted to let out, biting down on it and attempting to breathe through the pain. A drawn out groan escaped his lips despite his best efforts.

It felt like forever before he was finally upright, or somewhat upright. Once he was there the doctor let go, letting Dean take all his weight. "Now, Sam I need you to take several deep breaths, slow and easy." He explained, laying a hand on Sam's knee.

_Easy for you to say_ Sam wanted to say. The pain was intense, making it hard to breathe period, never mind deep slow breaths, and he really wanted some more drugs. He tried anyway, managing three before shaking his head. "Can't," he gasped out. Immediately the doctor nodded and took up his position again. Sam was slowly lowered back to the bed. As he lay there, gasping and trying to ride out the wave of pain with tears spilling down his face, concentrating on Dean's hand brushing back his bangs to anchor him, he felt the bed rise a little. Another twinge raced from his pelvis and belly, making him whimper.

"It's ok, Sam. Doc just raised the bed up a bit." Dean soothed and brushed the tears away.

Sam nodded, his eyes still tightly shut, his jaw clenched so he didn't embarrass himself any more than he already was. He had never thought a broken pelvis could be so painful. A minute later heat raced up his arm from the IV in the crook of his elbow and down to the source of the agony he was in, chasing it away. He was able to relax, finally taking a deep breath, or as deep as he could with broken ribs and a collapsed lung. "I'm ok." He muttered to Dean. He could feel his brother staring at him even if he couldn't see him.

"Are you sure about this? I mean, is it safe for him to be sitting up? That didn't look like it did him any good." Dean's voice was a mixture of anger and concern. He had argued the same thing every time they'd sat him up for the past two days.

"I'm sure, Dean. I know it hurts, but he has to move. Like I explained the first time, the break wasn't that bad and his last x-ray has shown that the bone is healing well. We'll be able to get a physiotherapist in here to get him up and moving in a few more days, and even that won't be hard. From what I can see he won't even need much physio. He's healing remarkably well, all things considered." Dr. Lacey was patient as he made the same explanations as he had every time Dean protested.

"D'n, 's'ok. Not tha' bad." Sam slurred, reaching out and tugging Dean's shirt. The morphine slurred his voice and made him tired. He knew it was going to knock him out and didn't fight it, dropping his hand to the bed again and sluggishly pulling his brother's coat up from where it had fallen to his legs. His head lolled around, trying to find the grizzly bear.

"Sure it wasn't that bad." Dean sighed. Sam felt his hands pushed away and the coat was pulled up to cover his chest along with the two blankets. He had been suffering from chills that the doctor said were just from the stress on his body. He found the sleeve of the coat and curled it into his fist while Dean wrapped his other arm gently around the bear. He thought momentarily that Dean would have a ton of blackmail material, what with the bear and the coat, but he fell asleep before he could say anything.

Once Sam was asleep, knocked out by the morphine Dr. Lacey had given him, Dean wiped the tears and sweat off his face and sat down in the chair to pick up the control for the TV, flicking through the channels. He stopped on an episode of Stargate, grinning. It was a good show; the idea of travelling through an alien device to fight other aliens was just cool. As the show was ending Sister Mary Catherine came in, wheeling a trolley in front of her. Steam wafted out of a basin and there was a covered tray, telling Dean it was time for his brother's sponge bath, and a meal.

Sister Mary Catherine waved him to sit back down when he stood to leave. "Don't worry about it, honey, you stay right there. I'm sure he's got nothing you haven't seen before."

Dean continued to rise, setting down the control and making a face. "Not since he was ten, and I don't really want to. I'm going to get a coffee." He ignored the eye roll she gave him and made his escape, taking the elevator down to the main floor. He detoured to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich and some jell-o. This hospital didn't have the usual hospital food; their chicken sandwiches were actually pretty good now that he had an appetite again.

By the time he had his food and a large coffee from the coffee stand near the gift shop, Sister Mary Catherine had finished Sam's bath and was changing the bandage on his side. Dean stared out the window, unable to look at the tube sticking out of his little brother's chest until the nurse cleared her throat, the signal that she was done.

He gave her a small smile when he turned back around and went to sit down, taking a large gulp of his coffee. "What's for dinner?" he asked, motioning at the tray.

"Some chicken broth and green jell-o. When he wakes up, make sure he eats as much as he can." Sister Mary Catherine replied, and then gave him a stern look. "And don't you eat the leftovers. We need to monitor his food intake." With a quick pat on Sam's shoulder, she finished the bandage there and gathered up her things, slipping out of the room quietly.

Grimacing, Dean leaned forward to peek under the cover on the food tray.

"Get out of my food you bottomless pit."

The voice, barely above a whisper, emanating from the bed made Dean smile. "'bout time you woke up, princess." He said, sitting back and taking a gulp of his coffee and trying to hide how happy the insult made him. Sam hadn't been up to much lately, that being the first time he'd even joked since he woke up and it felt great to hear. "Or maybe I should call you Rip Van Winkle after the long snooze you put me through."

"What'd you do to your hand?"

Dean grimaced again. He had been waiting for that question, but he'd hoped it would have taken a bit longer for Sam to ask, or better yet he'd have the cast off before Sam could ask and he'd just tell his brother he'd been hallucinating while he was drugged up. "Spirit in Pennsylvania got a little rough; I broke it when he tossed me across the graveyard." He said finally, with a resigned sigh.

Sam frowned and sighed. "I'm sorry Dean, I should have been there to watch your back." He felt terrible knowing Dean had gotten hurt because he hadn't been there. He'd had a lot of time to think since waking up and had come to a few conclusions, though he wasn't quite ready to tell Dean yet. He needed to think more, when the drugs didn't cloud his mind. Shifting, he hissed at the pain the minute movement caused and unconsciously hugged the grizzly bear in his arm tighter.

"It's ok Sam. I'm fine, no harm done." Dean replied, recognizing his little brother's guilty look. The kid was blaming himself for a stupid accident. "It's not your fault, it probably would have happened even if you'd been there. It was one of those things." When Sam hissed, he leaned forward, immediately concerned.

"'s'okay, 'm fine. Just moved wrong." Sam said, but he didn't try to get away from the hand that rested on his forehead, Dean's thumb soothing away the pain lines. After a minute he breathed a sigh and opened his eyes again. Rolling his head to look at Dean, he blinked, suddenly exhausted. "I'm fine." He really wanted to go to sleep even though he'd just woken up.

"Don't sleep yet. The nurse wants you to eat something first." Damn older brothers and their mind reading skills.

"Not hungry."

"Tough." Dean moved the tray closer to the bed and stood up. 'Not hungry' had been Sam's mantra since he had woken up. The doctor said it was normal after going so long without solid food and that the meds he was on would make him slightly nauseous, but he had to eat. Sitting on Sam's bed and picking up the spoon Dean dipped it into the now warm broth and brought it to Sam's lips, his free hand moving the oxygen mask aside.

For a minute Sam thought about refusing. His stomach rebelled at the thought of food, even though he knew he needed to eat. And the broth did smell good, at least as good as hospital food could. So rather than act like a five year old he opened his mouth and let Dean spoon the warm liquid in. He managed a few mouthfuls before his stomach really began to rebel. "No more," he groaned, shaking his head.

Dean seemed to understand. He moved back, setting the bowl of broth back on the tray and settled the oxygen mask gently back into place. "Ok, dude. No more for now. How about we wait a few minutes and try the jell-o?"

Sam didn't really want the jell-o but nodded anyway, for Dean's sake. His brother looked so hopeful he couldn't turn him down. It had been a tough two weeks for Dean, being told Sam would die, and he wanted to get well not only for himself but for Dean as well. Getting well for Dean had been one of the things he'd thought about lately, actually the main thing, though he knew Dean wouldn't like his reasons. Or maybe he would....he'd be relieved at least, that much Sam was sure of. They sat in silence, Dean playing with the spoon, until Sam waved his hand. "How about that jell-o?"

Smiling, Dean picked up the container of green jell-o and dug the spoon in. Moving aside the oxygen mask again, he spooned the green goop into Sam's mouth.

Sam could only handle three small mouthfuls before he shook his head. "No more," he repeated the same thing he'd said with the broth. "Sorry, can't eat any more." He swallowed reflexively, trying to stop the rolling of his stomach. He was determined not to throw up. He'd thrown up almost every time he'd eaten so far, except breakfast that morning. Dr. Lacey had said they'd need to use a feeding tube if he didn't start keeping his meals down. After a few breaths his stomach eased up a little and he felt his body sag back into the bed. His eyes began to droop again. He blinked lazily at Dean.

Nodding, Dean set the oxygen mask back in place once again and sat back, putting everything aside for the nurse to see when she came back in. "You did good, man. Half the broth and almost half the jell-o; Sister Mary Catherine will be impressed," he soothed, shaking his head and pulling the blankets up a little more, tucking Sam in when he saw his brother's sleepy look. "Go to sleep."

Sam didn't seem to be in the mood to argue. Tugging the coat up and squeezing the grizzly his eyes closed and he drifted off again. Smiling, Dean fixed the coat and bear. Sam didn't even seem to realize how he clung to the two objects. It was probably the drugs but it was still sweet, though Dean would deny ever thinking it if anyone asked, and then kill them for asking.

Brushing his hand over Sam's forehead he stared down at his brother for what was probably the millionth time since the whole nightmare started. It was his fault, he shouldn't have left. He had been over it a thousand times and just kept coming back to the same conclusion. Sure, Sam's friends had been jerks but he was used to it. He shouldn't have let it get to him, and he certainly shouldn't have blown up at Sam for it. It wasn't the kids fault. If he'd only stayed he could have gone on the hike with them and kept Sam safe, kept him from falling down the hill. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair. He couldn't change what had happened.

As Dean brushed Sam's hair back and shifted so his hip touched his brother's the door opened and Sister Mary Catherine peeked in, a questioning look on her face. "He woke up and ate something," Dean reported with a smile.

Returning the smile, Sister Mary Catherine bustled in and looked at the tray, nodding approvingly and making notes on the chart at the foot of Sam's bed. "Half the meal. That's actually very good. Most people don't manage that much only three days after waking up, especially with his injuries. And if he can keep another meal down tonight Dr. Lacey will be able to forgo the feeding tube" She bustled around, checking on Sam and making some more notes before gathering the tray up. Turning to look at Dean she gave him a sympathetic look. "Honey, you're exhausted. Why don't you crawl into bed and get some sleep too?

Dean thought of arguing and opened his mouth to say he was fine, but was stopped by the glint in Sister Mary Catherine's eyes. Last time he'd said he was fine she'd threatened to sedate him and he had no doubt she'd do it. Sister Mary Catherine and Dr. Lacey didn't seem to mind drugging him and making him sleep, so he had come to the conclusion it was easier to do what they said. "Sure, why not," he replied. Standing, he kicked his boots off and climbed into the other bed, which he'd pulled as close as he could to Sam's. Lying down he reached across and laid his hand on Sam's arm before closing his eyes and giving in to sleep.

Clucking gently and smiling softly, Sister Mary Catherine set the tray down and tucked Dean in, settling the pale blue hospital blanket over him, before gathering everything up and slipping out of the room.

Sam clenched his jaw so tightly he was sure his teeth would break. Dr. Lacey and Dean were positioned on either side of him, easing him into a sitting position again, and it hurt like hell. The pain had lessened somewhat over the past few days, but it was still intense. He breathed a relieved sigh when they eased him back down after he completed five deep breaths, noticing immediately that the head of his bed had been raised again. He was actually glad to find it out, since it meant he was healing and was that much closer to getting out of the hospital.

"How did that feel, Sam? How was your pain level?" Dr. Lacey asked, easing a syringe into the IV port. Immediately heat ran up Sam's arm. He had thought briefly of refusing the pain medication, wanting his brain to be drug-induced haze free for a while so he could think properly, without his thoughts being muddled and confused, but the pain was too much.

Waiting a minute for the morphine to kick in, Sam nodded. "Not bad." He opened his eyes to Dean's glaring face and shrugged. "Ok, my pelvis hurt, but not as bad as before," he admitted. "So, can I get out of here soon?"

"Sam" Dean's voice was a low warning growl.

"It's ok, Dean." Dr. Lacey shook his head and held up a hand to quiet the elder Winchester. "I did promise him an answer in a few days." He fell silent as he moved around, checking monitors and finishing his exam. Finally he stopped and turned to regard his patient seriously. "I'm afraid you have a few more days, Sam." He held up a hand again when Sam opened his mouth, but Dean cut him off.

"Sam, you still have a tube sticking out of your chest. Face it, you're staying."

Giving his brother a frown that lacked its usual snark thanks to the oxygen mask he was thoroughly tired of wearing, Sam ignored Dean and looked to Dr. Lacey. "You said you can take the tube out today, and all my tests came back good." He wanted to yank the stupid mask off, frustrated at it, but that he knew from experience wouldn't go over so well with his brother or doctor. Or the nurse, he reminded himself, remembering the nun's reaction the previous day when she'd found him with it around his neck.

"No, I said we'd try again to take the tube out today." The doctor corrected. "You have to understand Sam that your body went through a serious trauma. You spent two weeks in a coma that you're very lucky to have come out of. Most people with your injuries wouldn't have made it." He paused and seemed to consider something. "And I'd like to take you back into surgery. While your tests are coming back with marked improvement, your liver is still bleeding slightly. It has healed, but not enough. I had hoped to avoid further surgery, hoping it would heal on its own like this type of injury often does, but it looks inevitable."

Sam sighed at the doctor's words. He was right, of course, but that didn't mean it was easy to hear. "Sorry. I just hate hospitals." He mumbled, letting his body relax back into his pillows and closing his eyes. He really wasn't looking forward to more surgery, either, though he admitted his stomach was still agony most of the time. The morphine was starting to kick in and combined with his body's weakened state it made him start to drift off.

Turning to stare out at the window, he sighed inwardly. He wanted out of there, even if it was so that Dean could leave. He'd dragged his brother back by getting hurt, and didn't want to force Dean to stay there any longer than he had. He remembered Dean leaving, the memory crystal clear in his mind. It replayed over and over and over. Snatches of the conversation they'd had floated back to him; "_without me tagging along embarrassing you...it's better this way....why don't we forget about Friday...I wouldn't want to force you...." _Then Dean had left, he'd driven his brother out, chosen his friends over his brother. But that hadn't been it, he thought, struggling against the cloudy haze of his mind. He knew that was only part of it. There had been more he just couldn't remember it, it was too hard to think when he was doped up on painkillers.

A gentle tap to his face pulled him back from his thoughts. Opening his eyes he glared at Dean, who just shrugged back at him.

"Sam, we're going to try blocking your chest tube again, ok? Just relax and breathe normally, you know the routine." Dr. Lacey's voice floated to him and he realized he'd been dozing on his morphine induced cloud for more than a few seconds. The pain was already a bit worse, telling him it'd been long enough for the drug to start wearing off. Looking to his right he watched blearily as the tube coming out of his chest was blocked. Right away his chest started to hurt more, feeling like a weight had been put on it, but unlike previous attempts he could still breathe though it was slightly difficult. It was encouraging that he wasn't gasping for air and trying not to whimper in pain. Instead he gripped Dean's hand in his tightly.

"Good, good. How's that feel?" Dr. Lacey asked, watching the machines surrounding Sam and occasionally glancing at Sam himself.

Nodding, Sam took a couple of experimental breaths, wincing at the pain but relieved when it wasn't as bad as the last times they'd tried. "Ok, I think. Kinda hurts and it's a little hard to breathe, but it's not that bad," he said finally. The prospect of getting the tube taken out, as well as the death glare Dean was sending him, made him tell the truth.

Dr. Lacey's face broke out into a wide smile. "We'll give it a couple of hours just to be sure but I think we can take the tube out today," he said after watching the monitors for a few more moments. "I've gone ahead and booked the OR for this afternoon to fix your liver up and after that, as long as you continue to improve, you should be able to go home in a couple of days."

"How about the oxygen mask?" Sam asked, tapping the contraption on his mouth.

"I think that can go too, we'll replace it with a nasal cannula." Dr. Lacey replied with a laugh. He had met plenty of patients who hated hospitals, but none so eager to get out as Sam Winchester was. And as stubborn, he thought, seeing that Sam was in pain again. Taking out a smaller syringe, he emptied the morphine into the IV port. "And tomorrow we'll see about getting you up and moving a little bit if you're that eager. I'll be back in a couple of hours to get that tube out for you."

Sam grinned as the doctor walked out then closed his eyes, waiting for the Morphine to ease his pain before turning to Dean. His grin faded at the stormy look on his brother's face. "What?" he asked, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

"Nothing, you just seem to be channelling me with this 'when can I leave' crap." Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "You need to take it easy, Sam, not fight the doc to get out of here."

Sighing and feeling tired again now that the excitement was over, Sam sagged back into the bed. "I just don't like hospitals" he mumbled, closing his eyes. His muddled brain told him that wasn't the whole reason but he ignored it. It was the drugs talking, the rational, not drugged-up side of him kept saying but since he spent most of his time drugged up it didn't really help.

"That's crap. Spit it out Sam" Dean's voice was hard but the hand that smoothed over his forehead in a now regular gesture softened the demand considerably. It told Sam that Dean was just worried and using his usual way of hiding it.

He was too tired for it, but he fought the sleep and morphine. "Don't want to keep you here. Longer I'm here, longer you're stuck with me. Don't want to hold you down." He pulled Dean's coat closer. "You left, you don' wanna stay. You c'n go ag'n." He knew somewhere, in the not-drugged-up part of him, that he was wrong. Dean wouldn't be there if he didn't want to stay, but that part of his brain wasn't working.

Dean gaped at his brother, completely blown away. It felt like Sam had shoved a knife in him and twisted, but it was his own fault. He had done this; he had left and all but told Sam not to call him. "Damn, Sammy." He muttered, sinking down to sit on the bed, still holding Sam's hand in his casted one and continuing to brush the other soothingly over Sam's forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, and I never will. I was mad, and upset and stupid and I took it out on you. You're not holding me down and you never will be." He let out a breath when he saw that Sam was asleep and had missed his words entirely.

"We'll talk about this when you wake up, I promise." He finished, and then on an urge leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss over Sam's forehead. He was turning into a girl with all his chick-flick moments and kisses lately he mused with a touch of humour, though he figured he had a right to it as long as Sam didn't find out. He'd never live it down and was sure he'd be in for a ton of touchy-feely times with Sam in the future if his brother found out. Grimacing and then smiling at the thought he picked up the control and turned the TV on. With the volume on low he began flipping channels until he found the Simpsons and settled down to watch while Sam slept.


	9. Chapter 9

Two hours, two episodes of the Simpsons and an episode of Star Trek later Dean stood by Sam's bed and watched in slight disgust as the bandages around the chest tube were pulled off in preparation for it being removed. Sam was still bleary and doped up on an extra serving of Morphine to keep the procedure as painless as possible, Dr. Lacey explained. Having gone through it once himself Dean was glad Sam would be too doped up to feel too much.

"You don' have to stay Dean," Sam slurred, noting how pale Dean was as the chest tube was revealed. It did look gross, sticking out from below his ribs, the skin around it raw and red. "'m ok."

The look on Sam's face as he spoke told Dean a completely different story as his words, and so did the way he gripped Dean's hand. "I'm not going anywhere." He said, squeezing back slightly. He was pretty sure Sam didn't remember telling him to leave, but he remembered it all too vividly and was now determined to stay.

"Th'nks" Sam replied with a small smile, trying not to appear as high as he felt. He wasn't quite high enough to not feel the tug when Dr Lacey pulled the bandages off his side and prodded the chest tube. Cringing, he glanced over at the doctor, who was staring back.

"Ready, Sam?"

"No," Sam replied half-heartedly, but nodded and turned his eyes to lock onto Dean's, unable to watch the tube being pulled out. Dean gripped his hand tightly, giving Sam strength. A minute later a sharp pain in his side made him cry out and jerk away, but Sister Mary Catherine was holding him where he was. Holy crap that hurt. Even with the pain meds he was on, it felt like someone had ripped a hole in his side. "Guhhh," he moaned, his breath hitching and his eyes scrunching shut.

"Shhh, take it easy Sammy, it'll pass, just breathe through it." Dean's voice soothed. Sam concentrated on his brother's hand in his, using it as an anchor to keep from passing out. Around him Dr. Lacey and Sister Mary Catherine continued to work, replacing his oxygen mask with a thin nasal cannula and bandaging the hole he now had under his ribs. Eventually the pain eased and he sank back into his pillows, taking a few experimental breaths. His side hurt but it was a relief not to have a tube sticking out of him. It meant he could get out of the hospital soon.

Soon Dean would be able to go on his way. _No, that was wrong, Dean wouldn't want to leave him, _the rational side of him piped up, but the drugs were making that voice tiny and quiet. Dean didn't want to be with him, so he'd let him go. It would hurt like hell but he would do it. He refused to be responsible for Dean being unhappy, and if letting him leave was what had to be done, then that's what he'd do. _Even though it's wrong. Even though Dean would never leave_, the tiny voice added.

"Hey, what's wrong Sam?" Dean's gentle voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"'nothin, 'm fine." He mumbled without opening his eyes.

"Yeah, so you're crying for nothing?"

Crap. He hadn't realized he was crying. Stupid drugs. "It's nothing." He repeated.

Dean wasn't having any of it. "Tell me Sammy, please." Damn him, and he was begging.

Opening his eyes, Sam glared blearily at his brother. "You're leaving soon." He muttered finally, and had to look away. He couldn't look at Dean when he said it. "It's ok, you can go. I don't need you anymore."

"Damnit Sammy." Dean sighed. He sounded lost, confused, and hurt. But after the way he'd been treated Sam figured he had a right to feel that way. "Why would I leave?"

"You did before. Don't know why you came back, but you can go now. I'm gonna be fine, you don't need to stay. Krista said you don't wanna be here." Sam knew deep down, past the drugged confusion, that what he was saying was wrong. The little voice kept shouting that he was wrong and that he should shut up but the rest of his mind didn't listen. He knew Dean wanted to stay and would never leave, but he just couldn't think straight when they doped him up. Krista's words kept coming back to him, confusing him and making him think the wrong thing. Only he couldn't help it, despite what the rational part of him was screaming. He kept his face turned away, watching what the doctor and nurse were doing instead of looking at Dean, though he purposely ignored the sad looks Sister Mary Catherine sent him.

"Just go." He said finally, turning his head to look at Dean. His brother looked heartbroken, but he nodded.

"Fine Sam, if that's what you really want I'll go." And with that he did. He turned, his face a crumpled mask of pain, and walked out. Sam closed his eyes as his brother disappeared out the door and swallowed back his tears. It was for the best.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Dean made it a few feet down the hallway before he broke down, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor and burying his head in his hands. He shuddered uncontrollably but refused to let himself cry. He wouldn't be weak anymore. Sam didn't want him around and as much as that hurt he wasn't going to show it.

Standing up, he made his way to the waiting room and sank down on one of the chairs. He'd stay there for a while. As much as Sam wanted him to go, he couldn't leave his brother, not until he knew Sam was ok. Leaning back he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

He was startled when soft hands fell onto his shoulders. Looking up, he came face to face with Sister Mary Catherine, whose features were set in a soft, sad look. He swallowed and stood up. "I'll bring Sam's clothes and stuff in to him tomorrow if that's ok. He'll need it for when he gets out of here."

"What he needs is you." Sister Mary Catherin replied steadily, standing with him.

Dean just shook his head. "No, he doesn't. You heard him. He told me to go, so I'll go."

"Come with me." Taking his arm, the nursing sister pulled him down the hall. He tried to pull away but her grip was firm and he ended up following her down the hall and through some doors, finding himself in a small chapel. He was tugged up to the front of the room and turned to face Sister Mary Catherine. "I always find it's easier to think in here. It's calm and comforting and lets us escape from the stress of the hospital," she explained before turning serious and giving Dean a sad look. "Dean, don't tell me you plan on leaving him."

"He wants me to go, so I'm going." Dean felt like a five year old and knew he probably sounded like one. But he was too stressed out to act the stoic and collected hunter, there had been too much stress lately. And anyway, he knew the nun wouldn't buy it; she hadn't fallen for the Winchester bravado yet. "He wants to hang out with his friends from school and I just don't fit in with them. He's made that painfully clear. I'm only in his way." Suddenly all the feelings he'd been holding back for weeks burst to the surface and Dean sank down onto the steps leading to the altar. Burying his head in his hands, he choked out a sob before he could stop himself.

Surprisingly strong arms wrapped around him as Sister Mary Catherine gave him a hug before pulling his head around to look at her, one hand on his cheek. "Now you listen to me young man, because I'm only going to say this once. That boy doesn't need you to leave; he needs you to stay with him. He needs your love, your support and your help if he's going to get better. You sat with him for two weeks without giving up even when they all said you should. Don't you give up now just because painkillers have muddled his brain enough to make him think you don't want to be around him."

"I never said that. He's the one who wants me gone." Dean replied, shock at the nun's revelation making him blurt out the first thing that came to his mind.

"That's because he thinks you want to go. Use your brain, child. He's been told over and over by those friends of his that you left and weren't coming back, and he's been through a lot. Add painkillers that dull your thinking and it's no wonder he thinks what he does. If he were lucid right now I have a feeling he never would have said those things." She patted his arm. "Why don't you go home and get a good night's sleep. Come back in the morning and talk to your brother."

Nodding, Dean stood up. He wanted to go right back to Sam, but figured his little brother could use a bit of time. "Is it ok if I just stay in the waiting room?" When Sister Mary Catherine nodded, he impulsively gave her a hug. He didn't know why but he liked her immensely. For some reason he didn't feel a need to keep his walls up around her; he could show how he really felt, like he did around Sam. He didn't even have to think about what she'd told him, he could see right away that she was right. Now he felt guilty as hell again, only more so because he'd walked out on his brother again, and stupid for not realizing that Sam had only pushed him away when he was extra dopey. He should have figured that out.

"How about you go get a coffee and take a walk, then you can sit in the waiting room." The nun conceded with a smile. "And don't you chew yourself up over this. It isn't your fault. You've been under a lot of strain so it's no wonder you finally had to let some of it out." She'd seen people bottle up their emotions, but never so much as the young man in front of her.

Smiling tentatively back Dean turned and left the chapel. He wanted to take her advice and not blame himself only he knew he was to blame. He'd left Sam and Sam had gotten hurt, and when his brother needed him most he'd turned and walked out again. But he wouldn't do it anymore. In the morning he was going to talk to his brother, make sure Sam understood that he was never going to leave.

Halfway to the coffee stand Dean's phone rang. "Hello?" he answered.

"_Dean, it's Pastor Jim. How's Sam?"_

"Hey Jim. He's ok, they're going to start getting him up and moving a bit tomorrow." Dean replied.

"_That's_ _good. You think you can spare a day or two to help me out with something? I wouldn't ask normally, but you're the closest hunter and it needs handling ASAP_."

Dean had paused in a quiet part of the hallway to talk. Waiting for a nurse to walk past, he frowned. "I don't know, Jim. Sam still needs me here and I really don't want to leave him." The thought of leaving Sam would have been hard earlier, but after what Sam had said it was even less appealing.

"_I know Dean, and normally I wouldn't ask you to. But this is serious. There's a poltergeist in a church preschool about six hours from you. Looks like some renovations woke up the ghost of a young woman who killed herself in the building. Two toddlers have ended up in the hospital with pretty serious injuries already_."

"Son of a Bitch." Dean hated cases that involved kids. There was no way he could turn down a job in which babies were being hurt. He couldn't do it, and he knew Sam wouldn't want him to. Glancing down the hall towards Sam's room he spotted Sister Mary Catherine standing at the nurse's station chatting to another nursing sister. "Ok, sure. Call me back in ten minutes with the information and I'll handle it," he decided. Mumbling a goodbye to Pastor Jim, he hurried up the hall.

"Sister Mary Catherine, I need a favour."

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Sam watched as Dean left the room, desperately fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. _It's for the best, it's what Dean wants._ He kept chanting in his head, trying to make himself believe it. It broke his heart to watch his brother leave but he refused to call Dean back. Dean had left once and Sam had dragged him back when he'd been hurt. Well, he wouldn't make him stay any longer than he wanted to, and it'd been too long already. Dean had to be getting sick of waiting on him hand and foot, feeding him like a baby because he was too weak to do it himself, holding his hand. He hated stuff like that and it was Sam's fault he had to do it.

"Now what was that for?"

Looking over to Dr. Lacey, Sam swallowed. "It was for him." He replied hollowly, giving the doctor a confused look. "I don't want to keep him here."

Dr. Lacey set down Sam's chart and gave the boy a long, hard look. He had grown to like both the Winchesters in the past three weeks. He had siblings of his own and could only wish his older brother cared about him as much as Dean cared about Sam. "That wasn't for him that was for you." He replied flatly. "I'm not going to ask why you did it, but I will tell you that you aren't keeping Dean here." He held up a hand to silence Sam. "Your brother barely left your side from the minute he got here three weeks ago, only leaving when we forced him to take care of himself or be banned from seeing you. He wore himself down so badly that he fainted. A nurse found him on the floor. He was dehydrated and hadn't eaten properly in days. We sedated him overnight and had to run two IVs of fluids and nutrients to bring his fluids and electrolytes back up. Does that sound like the actions of someone who doesn't want to be here?"

Sam's eyes widened at what he heard. He vaguely remembered the day he woke up hearing something about an IV, but Dean had said he was ok and not to worry, so he hadn't. He hadn't asked again either because everything from the first day or two was too fuzzy to make sense of most of the time. But it sounded just like Dean. "But he left." Sam replied and where he had thought it sounded right before, it now sounded weak and stupid. The rational part of his mind, the one that wasn't being affected by the medication was louder now, too, and it hit Sam suddenly what he'd just done. Groaning, he raised a shaky hand to his face in dread. He'd just let stupid drugs get the better of him and driven his brother away for the second time.

"Just think about it, and talk to your brother in the morning." Dr. Lacey replied, patting Sam on the shoulder before walking out.

But Dean didn't come back the next morning. Sam watched the door eagerly, waiting for his brother to come through, intending to apologize for what he'd said and make it clear he didn't mean any of it. He'd been awake half the night thinking and realized what an idiot he was, trying to talk to Dean when he was doped up on Morphine and could barely keep his thoughts in line. When the drugs were weaker in his system he knew Dean wouldn't leave. It was just when he was high on them that he was so insecure. Hell, he'd told the x-ray technicians all about the different kinds of Pixies and fairies according to Dean, and had tried to discuss the finer points of holy water with Sister Mary Catherine. That should have clued him in that he wasn't thinking straight.

By mid-afternoon Sister Mary Angelica, the nurse who was on duty because Sister Mary Catherine had fallen ill, found him staring out the window, worried and agitated. "Now what's the gloom for, Mr. Winchester? You should be happy you'll start physiotherapy today."

"Has my brother been by?" Sam asked, ignoring the food she set down in front of him.

"No, he hasn't. Don't worry, he's probably just getting some well earned rest. From what I hear it's been a very stressful time for him." She probably didn't mean to but she just made Sam feel worse. "Now, how about some lunch?

"No thanks, I'm not hungry." He replied, shaking his head.

"Well, I'll leave it here for you then, how about that?"

When she left Sam pushed the food away. His stomach was too badly knotted to eat. He'd refused breakfast and couldn't even stomach the thought of lunch. Since he'd woken up that morning he'd refused pain medication, hating it after what it had made him do. He was starting to regret it but when Dean came back he wanted to be fully lucid and able to apologize and explain how sorry he was. If he let them drug him up again he'd end up saying something else to drive Dean away. He didn't want to risk it.

Late that evening, though, he was seriously starting to regret his decision. His pelvis, leg and ankle screamed in pain and his breathing was coming in harsh pants because of it, which only made his chest and stomach ache. He'd refused dinner despite threats from Dr. Lacey and the nurse, staying stoically silent until they'd given in and left him alone.

He was the same way the next day, refusing pain medication and food, and the physiotherapist despite everyone's attempts. He'd slept fitfully, dozing off and on for a few hours before spending the majority of the night jumping at every sound outside his room, hoping it was Dean. Dr. Lacey had tried to talk to him but Sam's only words had been "Have you seen Dean?" It had been almost pleading. But the reply he'd gotten, even if it was expected, was like a knife to his gut. Later, when the same nurse from the day before came in with lunch he'd snapped at her to leave him alone, then yelled at her again when she'd tried to move the grizzly bear, scaring her out of the room. He felt bad about it afterwards but couldn't bring himself to care.

By the third day he'd become lethargic, laying unmoving, his eyes staring dully at the wall across from his bed with Dean's coat clenched in one hand and the grizzly held tightly in the other. Dean was gone, he'd really left this time. It hurt a lot more than he thought it would, leaving a hole inside him that ate him with guilt. He didn't even feel the pain in his body anymore; it was all meaningless so he didn't register it. And he didn't even acknowledge anyone who came in, not even Dr. Lacey.

He lay submissive and limp while they examined him, changed bandages, poked and prodded and didn't answer their questions or attempts to get him to eat. They'd put another IV in his hand when they couldn't get him to eat and switched him back to an oxygen mask, and Dr. Lacey had mentioned a feeding tube if he didn't eat soon. Food was the last thing on his mind, though, any mention of it making him feel sick. He just didn't have the energy to care, not with the knowledge that he'd driven his brother away in a fit of drug-induced stupidity.

He didn't even look up when the door opened around noon, expecting it to be the young nurse again. When he heard familiar tapping of practical shoes across the floor, he turned his head to stare blankly at Sister Mary Catherine. He was glad to see her, finding her a comforting presence, more so than the other nurse that had been there. Maybe she knew where Dean was. "Dean?" he whispered hopefully.

"He's on his way honey, I promise." The nurse soothed, leaning over him and brushing his hair away from his face the way Dean usually did. "I'm sorry baby, he asked me to watch out for you. Said he had an urgent job to do and he'd be back. I left a note at the nurse's station so they could tell you but it must have gotten lost. I called him first thing when I got here and he's on his way." She stroked his hair back again, feeling terrible. Arriving at the hospital she'd been told the young Winchester boy had taken a turn for the worse, refusing treatment and asking for his brother who had left and not returned. They hadn't found the note she'd left, and nobody had been able to talk Sam into eating or taking his medication.

Sam blinked at her. None of her words really registered, except "he's on his way." A little bit of hope bubbled in his chest. Dean was coming back.

Sister Mary Catherine was still talking, though now her voice had taken on a stern, disapproving tone so Sam tried to pay attention. "And what's this I hear about you refusing to eat or take your medication? And scaring Mary Angelica. The poor girl is just a novice, young man, still in training. You should be ashamed of yourself!" She bustled around him, fixing his blankets and checking him over, clucking disapprovingly. "I'm going to go get you something to eat and some morphine. You're going to eat and then you're going to sleep."

Sam roused enough to shake his head. "No. Need to talk to Dean." He whispered. He needed to be lucid enough to talk to his brother. If he had any morphine he'd say something he regretted, drive Dean away again.

Sister Mary Catherine sighed but nodded. She had a feeling she knew what was going on in the boy's head. "Alright honey, we'll wait until Dean gets here."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: Sorry for the long delay in posting! I had exams and things. It may be a little while before the next chapter, I'm not sure. Convocation is coming and I'm a basket case so haven't been capable of writing very much.

And as usual, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You're all great.

**Disclaimer: **hah. I wish.

* * *

Dean swore a long string of curses as he climbed back into the Impala, easing onto the towel he'd thrown on the seat and grimacing at the squelching sound his boot was making with all the blood in it. He was covered in paint, his cast was cracked and his wrist hurt, he had a cut dripping blood down his leg which was throbbing and he was sure his back was black and blue. The blood was soaking his pant leg and dripping into his boot, making him slightly nauseous each time a movement made the boot squelch sickeningly. The poltergeist hadn't gone quietly, throwing him around and dumping paint from the pint-sized art easels on him, then tossing him around a bit more when he'd tried to place the herb packets. The job had taken a day and a half longer than he'd planned, too, when the damn thing had locked him in the basement. The only good thing was that church had insisted on paying and he had a nice five hundred bucks to add to the pay from the last job. Now he just wanted to get away from the house, patch himself up, and get back to Sam.

He was just pulling out of the driveway when his phone rang. Fumbling and cursing again when he got a swipe of bright yellow paint on the seat he dug it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"Dean? It's Sister Mary Catherine, from the hospital."

Dean's stomach dropped like a stone. "What's wrong? Is Sam ok?"

"No, he's not. I'm sorry Dean, I was ill and they lost the note I left explaining where you were. Nobody could contact you and Sam took it badly." The nurse explained gently.

Gripping the steering wheel so tightly he heard his cast crack further but ignoring the pain in his wrist Dean stepped on the gas. "How bad? God, please tell me he'll be ok."

"He's refusing pain medication and won't eat; he has been since you left."

"Sonuvabitch. Ok, I'm on my way. I'll be there in a couple of hours." Not hearing the nurse's reply he slammed on the gas, gunning the Impala's engine and tearing down the highway. Damn poltergeist. He never should have left; he should have stayed with Sam. Now his brother had taken a turn and it was his fault. It seemed everything he did got his brother hurt lately.

Three hours later and one close call with a cop Dean had the Impala parked back in Long-term parking and was flying through the hospital, oblivious to the blood trail he was leaving behind or the stabbing pain shooting up his leg with each step. His mind was in full big-brother mode, every brain cell locked on getting to his brother and adrenalin keeping him from feeling any pain. Bursting out of the elevators on Sam's floor he almost ran full-on into Dr. Lacey, who stared at him in shock.

"Dean! What in the world happened to you!?!" The doctor exclaimed in shock, taking in the man's bloody, pale appearance and blood he was leaking everywhere, and trying to lead him over to sit down on a chair.

"I'm fine, I need to get to Sam." Dean replied distractedly, but the doctor was already motioning to an orderly with a wheelchair and prodding at the gash on Dean's leg.

"You're not fine, you've lost a lot of blood and this needs stitches." Lifting Dean's hand, he frowned at the remains of the cast. "And we need to get you x-rayed and find out if you've done any more damage to your hand." He continued to look at Dean, taking his pulse and peering into his eyes. "You're suffering from blood loss and shock, Dean, you're not fine. I'm amazed you're even conscious."

Standing, Dean winced at the pain it caused his leg now that he felt it and pushed the doctor away. "I'm fine, I just need to see my brother." He was pushed into the wheelchair anyway and a firm hand was put on his shoulder. "Then at least sit in the wheelchair, you can't be standing on that leg." Dr. Lacey's voice was resigned but he told the orderly to take Dean to Sam's room before heading off to get the supplies he'd need to treat the elder Winchester. "I'll bring a tray in and treat you in there."

The minute Dean was pushed through the door to Sam's room he leapt out of the wheelchair, ignoring the orderly's protests, and hurried to the bed, shocked at what he saw. Sam was as pale as the day Dean had arrived in the ICU over three weeks before. His eyes were sunken and bruised, and he stared at the wall with a dullness Dean had never seen before. Sam didn't even react to the presence of people in his room, didn't show any sign that he even knew people were there. Reaching out, Dean laid his good hand on Sam's wrist hesitantly, blinking back tears. "Sammy?"

Sam turned to look at him then. The sheer relief and pain Dean saw made him falter, and his barely audible "Dean?" felt like someone was ripping his heart out.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm sorry I left, but it's ok now. I'm here." He wanted to joke, to make a crack about Sam missing him that badly but it died on his lips at the look in Sam's eyes.

"Dean?" Sam repeated almost soundlessly. He sounded like every word hurt. Which given his chapped lips it probably did, Dean realized. It looked like the dumb kid hadn't just refused food, but water too.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. God, I'm so sorry for leaving. I thought you'd been told I had a job to do, it was an emergency and Pastor Jim said I was the closest person. A poltergeist was hurting kids, Sammy. I told Sister Mary Catherine I'd be back in a day, but the job took me longer than it was supposed to when the sonuvabitch locked me in the basement. They were supposed to tell you, I'm sorry." He couldn't seem to stop rambling, words spilling out of his mouth so fast they stumbled over each other.

Sam just stared at him until he stopped talking, feeling terrible for putting his brother through so much by leaving. Sam's "'s'okay, Deann. 'm sorry," took him by surprise, though.

Before Dean could ask what Sam was sorry for, a wave of dizziness hit him. Faltering he felt his knees give out but clutched the bed and Sam's hand for support.

"D'n?"

Sam's slurred question, laced with concern, was the last thing he heard before everything greyed around him and then faded out.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Sam stared in shock as Dean collapsed beside his bed, his face going grey, then white, before he crumpled to the floor. He didn't even feel the pain as Dean's hand on his dragged him sideways. The orderly leapt forward but wasn't in time to catch the older hunter, whose head hit the floor with a painful sounding crack that resounded loudly in the room. Only Dean didn't flinch.

Dr. Lacey and Sister Mary Catherine chose that moment to enter the room, the nun pushing a cart of supplies in front of her. They both took one look at the scene in front of them and leapt into action. Dean hadn't let go of Sam's arm, and Sam couldn't make himself let go even when Sister Mary Catherine tried to break his weak grip, so Dean was manoeuvred onto a gurney the orderly retrieved from the hall and Dr. Lacey bent over him.  
"Dean? Is Dean ok?" Sam asked, rasping out the words between painful swallows. He hadn't drank anything in three days and every word felt like sandpaper in his throat while he watched everything that happened dully. He knew something was wrong, but he was too weak and lethargic to think clearly enough to be worried. He could feel alarm building as they worked on Dean, but didn't have the strength or energy to show it.

Sister Mary Catherine looked up and gave him a reassuring smile. "He'll be ok, honey, you just relax. Think you can let go of his hand so we can treat him?" Sam looked at his hand clutching Dean's dumbly before he shook his head no, too scared to let go and received an understanding nod in return. He watched as Dean's clothes were cut off. An IV of fluids was inserted in his arm and another nurse appeared, taking a vial of blood to check for type. Dr. Lacey was bent over Dean's leg that Sam saw was covered in blood, muttering to himself.

Nobody seemed to be paying attention to Sam, except Sister Mary Catherine who gave him encouraging looks once in a while. The second nurse reappeared with an IV of blood which was quickly set up in the crook of Dean's elbow. They were all concentrating on Dean. It felt like an eternity before Dr. Lacey straightened up and moved to look at Dean's head, revealing a neat row of stitches holding together a six inch gash on Dean's calf and a nicely swollen knee. Sam sucked in a breath, drawing Dr. Lacey's attention in a quick glance and a smile to say it was ok as Sister Mary Catherine moved to wash the blood away and bandage the leg. Once she was done Dean was rolled onto his side, revealing his back which was covered in dark purple and black bruising. Dr. Lacey examined them, pressing down and running his hands over Dean's back before nodding and letting the two nurses roll him back to his back.

"Don't worry Sam, he'll be fine, he's got a mild concussion and has lost a bit of blood, but we're giving him a transfusion and have stitched him up," the doctor said to Sam, stating the obvious as he flashed his penlight into Dean's eyes, judging the pupil reaction. A minute later he nodded and looked back to Sam. "Sam, I need you to let go of his hand. We need to take him down for some x-rays of his hand and knee and back."

Sam shook his head when the doctor's words registered, unwilling to let go of his brother. With a sigh Dr. Lacey wrapped Dean's knee and wrist snugly in ace wrap before nodding to the two nuns helping him. Sister Mary Catherine reached for Sam's hand, gently peeling his fingers back. Sam fought weakly, panicking, but the nun was firm. "It's ok, Sam, just hold on. We're going to move him to the bed and then you can hold his hand again, ok?"

Wide-eyed, Sam watched, his hand outstretched in an attempt to reach his brother while Dean was slipped into a hospital gown and settled in the bed next to him, propped on his side with pillows in deference to his back and his leg arranged so it was supported. Leads were placed on his chest to monitor his heart and an oxygen monitor was clipped to his finger. Finally, after Dr. Lacey ran an oxygen cannula under his nose the bed was pushed closer to Sam's and he was able to grasp his older brother's hand. "Dean?" he whispered, squeezing faintly. Dean let out a breathy moan but didn't open his eyes, so Sam looked to Dr. Lacey.

"It's ok, Sam, he's going to be ok. The oxygen and monitors are just a precaution, he'll be fine." Moving to him, the doctor pulled out a syringe. "Now that Dean's here I'm going to give you some to help with the pain, ok? It'll be fine, he'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

Sam didn't bother looking at the doctor, his eyes locked on Dean's pale features. He felt the warmth that ran up his arm when the medication was pushed into his IV and didn't care. His mind was fixed on Dean, completely unable to think of anything else now that his brother was back. He concentrated on his brother, holding his hand tightly as the medication pulled him under.

Dean woke slowly, trying to remember where he was as consciousness came back to him. His leg and head hurt, and so did his back, though thankfully he was propped on his side so what he figured must be some pretty amazing bruises weren't touching the bed, and his hand was gripped tightly in a much larger hand. Peeling his eyes open he blinked a few times before his eyes settled on the bed across from him, where Sam was sleeping peacefully, his arm reaching out through the safety rail and clamped on Dean's.

Seeing his brother everything came back in a rush and he sat up. Groaning and falling back when a wave of dizziness made the room spin and his back loudly protested, he caught sight of the IVs hanging over his bed. One was clear and the other was almost empty of red fluid. Blood. He'd needed a blood transfusion. That explained why he was in a hospital bed, he thought. Damn poltergeist must have gotten him worse than he'd thought. His back sent him a painful twinge to remind him why he was propped on his side, so he adjusted himself gingerly, easing back into the position he'd woken up in. Which wasn't a bad position, he thought idly, since he was turned towards Sam. It gave him a perfect view of his brother, let him study Sam while the younger man slept.

He didn't like what he saw. Sam was pale, his face drawn in pain and deep dark circles under his eyes. He'd lost more weight, not that he could stand to lose much more since the kid was already way too skinny, and his lips looked painfully chapped. His grip on Dean's hand was determined but not very strong, a telltale sign of how weak he was. And it was all his fault, again, Dean thought miserably. Again he'd left and hurt his brother. He'd placed the hunt above Sam on the importance scale and Sam had paid the price.

He was still staring at his brother when the door eased open and Sister Mary Catherine peeked in, smiling when she saw that he was awake. "How are you feeling, honey?" she asked, slipping in and walking to his bed silently, careful not to wake Sam.

"Ok." Dean replied, the standard Winchester answer. "How's Sam?"

The nun was moving around him, checking monitors and writing on his chart. "He's had a rough few days." She replied while she pulled the transfusion IV out of Dean's arm and taped a bandage over the tiny puncture. "But now that you're back he should be ok. Now, tell me honestly how you feel." She was staring at him sternly. "Any dizziness, nausea or pain?

"I'm ok, really." Dean returned her stare with a determined one of his own, trying to win. She was more determined though, and he gave up in defeat. "Fine. My leg hurts a bit, and my wrist, and my back feels like it's one big bruise, but it's not that bad. I'm fine, I've had worse." He pasted on his most honest look, the closest he could manage to Sam's puppy dog eyes. It was true; he'd definitely had worse in the past, so it wasn't a lie. And he did feel pretty good considering.

Sister Mary Catherine watched him calculatingly for a few minutes until he started to squirm uncomfortably, before nodding and scribbling on his chart. "I'll believe you, but only if you're honest with Dr. Lacey when he comes in later, alright? He's got you scheduled for a few x-rays so he can find out what's going on with your wrist, back and knee. If you feel worse or anything changes, you tell him. I mean it. You won't do Sam any good if you don't help yourself, you should have at least learned that by now."

Cringing at the subtle reminder that he'd passed out twice now at his brother's bedside, Dean decided to change the topic as he turned his attention back to Sam. "Why do I have to have x-rays? You patched me up already."

"We did, but only enough to get you through the night. Sam wouldn't let go of your hand and got agitated when we tried to force it. That boy is terrified you'll leave again."

Dean felt his face crumple with guilt, feeling even worse now with the evidence of how distressed he'd made his brother. Normally Sam would have insisted he be checked out; he must have been even more scared and out of it than Dean had thought if he was more worried about letting Dean out of his sight. "I shouldn't have left." He mumbled sadly.

A hand on his arm made him turn to look at Sister Mary Catherine. "I'm sorry, Dean. You trusted me to look after your brother and tell him where you had gone. I didn't do that and I'm very sorry." The nun pulled her hand away and moved over to Sam's bed to check on him.

"It's ok, it wasn't your fault." Dean replied once he had gotten over his surprise. "You said you left a note, you did what you could. You didn't mean to get sick." He had been angry the entire drive back to the hospital, ready to chew the motherly nun out for letting Sam down, after he'd thoroughly chewed himself out for leaving in the first place. But he couldn't blame Sister Mary Catherine, it wasn't her fault. It was his job to protect Sam and yet again he'd failed in that job. "He's really going to be ok?"

"I think so. Dr. Lacey will be by in a little while to check on you both. He'll be able to tell you more, but yes, I think Sam will be fine now that his brother is back with him. He's been scheduled again for surgery, this afternoon."

A silence fell between them as Dean watched Sister Mary Catherine check on Sam, scribbling yet more notes on the younger Winchester's chart and peeking under bandages. Sam didn't stir through the whole thing, which immediately had Dean worried. Seeing his look, Sister Mary Catherine smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, the poor boy is just exhausted. Worried himself so that he couldn't sleep at all while you were gone."

Nodding again because he suddenly didn't have the energy to talk, Dean blinked owlishly, trying to keep his eyes open a little longer. He wanted to be awake so he could talk to the doctor when he made his rounds. Sister Mary Catherine noticed and shook her head, coming over to pull his blanket up a bit. "Go to sleep, Dean. It's still early, Dr. Lacey won't be here for a couple more hours so get some more rest. You're going to want it once they start poking and prodding at you.

She was probably right, Dean thought. The poking and prodding always sucked. Maybe he could just sleep through it. Closing his eyes, he was asleep before the nun had left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** I'm terribly sorry everyone, for taking so long to update! RL has been nuts. I had final exams and graduated university and am trying to join the Navy.....so not much time for writing. But here's the next chapter. Chapter 11 will be two weeks in coming, at least. I won't have time to do it before that. But anyway, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still not mine *le sigh*

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Bright sunlight was streaming in through the window when Sam opened his eyes, taking a minute to blink everything in focus. A warm hand in his reminded him that Dean was back and he smiled slowly, stopping at a small grimace when his dry, chapped lips pulled painfully. He looked across the small space between the beds and contented himself with watching Dean sleep while Dr. Lacey moved quietly around him. Dean's face was relaxed and contented with no evidence he was in any pain. He looked so much younger in his sleep, Sam thought. Peaceful like he didn't look when he was awake and with a vulnerability he wouldn't normally let people see.

When Dr. Lacey looked over and saw he was awake, he smiled. "Good morning. Feeling better?" he asked, setting down Dean's chart and coming over to his bed.

Sam just nodded yes since his throat was too dry to talk and obediently rolled onto his back with only a small grunt of pain when the doctor prompted him too. He didn't want to; it felt too good to be lying on his side after three weeks on his back. It surprised him it didn't hurt as much as he knew it should to move, though it hurt more than it probably should too, and he wasn't fuzzy or confused. The past few days even the slightest movement had hurt like hell. He gave the doctor a questioning look.

"We cut down on your pain medication. I figured you'd be willing to let us give you something now that Dean is back, but Sister Mary Catherine explained things to me. It's not enough to make you say things the drugs confuse you into thinking you mean. You'll be a little sleepy but your mind should stay much clearer than before." He patted Sam's leg kindly and did his check-up while he talked.

"How's Dean?" Sam asked when Dr. Lacey finished with him and moved back to the older Winchester brother, finishing the exam he had been doing when Sam had woken.

"I'll know more after some x-rays and an MRI to check his head but I think he's going to be ok." He paused and gave Sam a long look tinged with considerable worry. Behind him Sam saw Sister Mary Catherine enter with their breakfast. "Any idea how your brother got these injuries? He was fine when he left the hospital, I know that."

There wasn't really anything he could say; he didn't know what his friends or Dean had told the doctor, and he didn't want to lie, to either Dr. Lacey or Sister Mary Catherine. He and Dean had come to like both of them immensely so it wouldn't be fair to lie. Yet he couldn't tell them the truth either, so he'd settle for being vague. "We have a pretty rough job. That's why he had to leave, he said so last night. He probably got a bit banged up."

Dr. Lacey seemed to buy the explanation, nodding and going back to examining Dean, who was starting to wake up. Groaning, the older hunter blinked open his eyes, cringing against the light and blinking a few more times before focusing on Sam. "Sammy? You ok?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

Sam nodded tiredly with a faint smile, squeezing Dean's hand that was still held in his. Trust Dean to ask about him before anything else. "I'm ok, Dean. Now that you're back." He wasn't ok, not after what he'd said to his brother, but there was plenty of time to say he was sorry later.

Dean squeezed back and stared at him for a few minutes while Dr. Lacey finished checking him over, looking like he was trying to formulate a response to Sam's chick-flick moment. Sam had thought he'd get a snarky comment back but it didn't come. It was getting creepy how emotional and open Dean had been lately. He vowed they'd talk about that later too.

Finally, Dr. Lacey stepped back and smiled. "Looks like you're going to make it Dean. I'm going to send you down to radiology for an MRI and some x-rays to find out what's up with your back and chest. I suspect you've got a couple of broken ribs, and I want to see about your knee too." As the doctor spoke an orderly walked in with a gurney. "Ah, and speak of the devil."

Letting go of Dean was easier this time knowing that he would be back, and after a brief squeeze Sam let Dean's hand drop, watching as his brother was transferred to the gurney and wheeled out of the room. Sister Mary Catherine stayed with him, setting a bowl of oatmeal and some juice down and helping him eat as much as he could, which only ended up being a few mouthfuls. Then, with an admonishment to drink all the juice he was left alone. His eyes quickly closed as exhaustion pulled him under again.

It was four hours later before Dean was brought back in, his eyes drooping at half mast and his wrist encased in another cast. Sam gave him a good look-over once Dean was back in his bed, propped up again by pillows. The lazy smile that was much too big to be real, and which Dean gave everyone, was a clear indication that the elder Winchester was doped up on the good stuff. His knee was also tightly wrapped in an ace bandage, the bumpy marks of wrappings showed on the front of his hospital gown around his chest and his face was a little bruised, but otherwise he looked fine.

Dr. Lacey followed the gurney in and smiled at Sam. "Dean will be fine. He's got two cracked ribs on the front and two bruised on the back, but his wrist hasn't been damaged anymore and his knee is just sprained." Doing a quick check to make sure Dean was comfortable he gave Sam a pat on the leg before slipping out.

Sighing in relief Sam stared at his brother, watching as his eyes slowly closed before letting his own do the same, following Dean into sleep.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

"Come on, Sam. Just a few more steps and you can go back to bed."

Sam groaned and resisted the urge to tell Sister Mary Catherine what she could do with those few steps. He was pretty sure channelling Dean again and insulting a nun wouldn't get him any brownie points, especially not with this particular nun.

"Yeah, Sammy, just a couple more steps. Mark and Josh are having fun." Dean's annoyingly perky voice made Sam grit his teeth and send his brother a look that told him exactly what he could do with himself. He would have given Dean a visual suggestion except he was sandwiched between Mark and Josh, two burly orderlies that were helping him walk across the room and back. And Sister Mary Catherine was in the room. She'd caught him flipping Dean off the day before and threatened to break his fingers if he did it again. Dean's laughter and joking comment about Nurse Ratchet meets the holy oath had earned him boxed ears and no coffee until he was released, pure torture for Dean Winchester.

It had been three days since Dean had returned, and while they hadn't talked about what had happened Sam knew they would. Dean had made it clear that they would talk eventually but until then both brothers had fallen back into their usual banter while they concentrated on recovering, though Dean was still being unusually affectionate and gentle. Sam usually woke up with his brother's hand in his and sometimes Dean's fingers carding gently through his hair, and twice more he'd felt his brother brush a kiss across his forehead when Dean thought he was asleep.

He'd finally had the surgery for his liver and Dr. Lacey had pronounced it a success, the small bleed stopped completely. His abdomen was doubly tender, and his new stitches were painful and itchy, but he didn't mind them.

Currently Dean was sitting in a chair in the corner, dressed and with a burger in his hand, having been released only a couple of hours previously. A cane rested against the wall beside him and his leg was stuck out in front of him, bulky bandages stretching his jeans tight.

Gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the fact that he was wearing nothing but a thin hospital gown while two large guys had their arms wrapped around him, Sam forced his left leg to support as much of his weight as possible. He swung his casted right leg forward, cringing when it thunked on the floor sending a jolt of pain up his damaged limb. With Mark and Josh's help he moved his left leg forward, shuffling along at a snail's pace until, four agonizing steps later, he was being eased gently back onto the bed.

Walking across the room and back had been a lot harder than he'd expected it to be, he thought miserably as Sister Mary Catherine pushed a syringe of painkillers into his IV. Flopping back onto the bed, he watched through half closed eyes while Dean and the nursing sister settled him back in. He didn't have the energy to help them. His leg was settled back onto the pillows and he was swiftly wiped down and put into a clean, non-sweaty gown, having thoroughly soaked the first one with the effort of taking only a few steps.

"Now, you rest and get some of your energy back, you did good sweetie." Sister Mary Catherine praised him, patting his arm. "I'll be back with some dinner for you in an hour or so."

Once the nursing sister was out of the room, Dean stood up and limped his way out of the corner, climbing up and sitting on Sam's bed at his brother's knees. "You ok?" he asked with a worried frown.

Opening his eyes Sam nodded. "Yeah, just tired. Didn't think it'd be so hard to walk across the room." He couldn't help the hint of annoyance in his voice. Dr. Lacey said he was healing very well considering his injuries and the strain so much damage was putting on his system, but he'd been in the stupid hospital for three and a half weeks already and was only out of bed for the third time. He still wore a catheter and oxygen cannula and two IVs, he had trouble keeping down more than a few mouthfuls of food at a time, and his gut killed, not to mention his bruises were only half healed. That had worried him the most, but he'd been told the severity of them meant it would take longer than usual for them to heal.

"Relax, Sammy. Dr. Lacey said you're doing great, you just have to be patient. You almost died, dude, it's not like you can get up and walk away from that in a couple of days," Dean spoke with the unusually gentle tone he'd been using lately, whenever Sam started to get frustrated, and it helped. Sam found himself relaxing into the bed, closing his eyes and sighing.

"I know, but I'm getting sick of being in a hospital. I swear I'm gonna sign myself out if he doesn't spring me soon," Sam groused halfheartedly. He knew Dean would never allow it even if he wanted to. "It's boring in here. If we stay much longer I'm gonna start putting pictures up and choosing paint colours for the walls."

The drugs were starting to take effect and while they were nowhere near as strong as they had been before they were combining with his exhaustion to pull him under. His words slurred towards the end, and he fumbled around until his hands touched the fuzzyness of the grizzly bear. Pulling it towards him, Sam wrapped his arm around it before fumbling again. He met Dean's hand as his brother settled something heavy and warm over him. Knowing what it was immediately Sam grabbed a fistful of the leather jacket and held onto it as his eyes drifted closed.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Watching Sam fumble around for the leather coat, after having found his grizzly, Dean smiled and reached for the garment lying on the end of the bed. He draped it over Sam and watched as Sam grabbed a handful of it before he fell asleep. Over the past week and a half, since Sam had woken up from the coma, he hadn't gone to sleep without the bear or coat. Not even the three days Dean had been gone, he'd been told. They had become comfort items for his little brother, which he thought was adorable, not that he'd ever tell anyone he thought that. He still didn't think Sam realized it, though. The younger Winchester hadn't given any indication that he'd noticed falling asleep holding the coat and bear and waking up practically cuddling them to his chest. Dean couldn't wait until Sam noticed, actually, and realized what he'd been doing. It would be priceless; he could picture the embarrassment on Sam's face already.

Grinning, he tugged the coat up a little higher when Sam shivered slightly in his sleep. The kid had been cold constantly since waking up, a side effect of the stress put on his body, Dr. Lacey had said, as well as one of the medications that he was on that apparently caused chills. It sucked for Sam, big time, he thought, in the air conditioned hospital.

He was paying so much attention to his brother he didn't notice the door open or the soft pad of sensible shoes across the floor. It was a shock when something slapped the back of his head and a voice demanded "What are you doing on that bed, young man? I've told you to stay off it! They're made for one, not two!"

Turning and sending Sister Mary Catherine a mock grimace, then smiling when he saw the humour in the woman's eyes, he shrugged. "Just making sure Sam has his blankie and teddy bear before bedtime." He replied.

Sister Mary Catherine set the tray she was carrying on the table beside the bed. "Well, I'll let him sleep a little longer then, it hasn't been more than half an hour since I left last. I've brought him some broth and pudding, try to get him to eat as much as he can." She held out a second pudding cup and spoon with a fond smile and a conspiratorial wink. "It's chocolate today, so here you go. Don't tell the other patients I snuck you some."

"Sister, I love you." Dean cracked, taking the pudding and spoon and grinning. After a minute his grin faded and he turned serious. "He's still cold all the time."

"It's ok, his body will be a little out of sync for a while yet. It's the same as the low fevers he's run twice already. His body just isn't sure what's what right now. I'll bring another blanket for him." The nun gave Dean a reassuring pat on the arm. "Don't worry honey, he's doing fine. We're all proud of how well Sam's recovery is going. He's moving along much better than a lot of people with the injuries he has would be."

A little reassured Dean watched Sister Mary Catherine leave. Turning around and scooting up so he was leaning beside Sam on the bed, he grabbed the remote for the TV and set it to Stargate Atlantis, then leaned back and dug into his pudding.

It was three hours later before Sam showed signs of waking. Another nun had come in and taken away the broth, returning only a few minutes before with a fresh bowl so it would be warm when Sam was ready to eat it.

"Hey, about time Princess, nice of you to grace me with your presence." Dean joked when Sam's eyes opened. He stood up from the chair, having long since switched positions from the bed when his ribs protested the way he was lying, and moved the tray of food over his brother's lap. "Dinner has been waiting for you, broth and pudding. And dude, its chocolate."

Sam just stared sleepily for a few minutes before nodding. "Sure, Dean." He let Dean raise the head of his bed a little more and let his brother spoon the broth into his mouth. The process was slow, taking almost an hour since he had to stop and let his stomach settle, but Dean could see the determination to eat all the food. If he couldn't eat properly he wouldn't be allowed to leave.

Eventually he managed to get all the broth and half the pudding down, along with half the cup of apple juice before shaking his head to indicate he couldn't eat anymore.

"You did good, Sam. More than you've eaten so far." Dean moved the tray away, setting it by the door where the nurse would look for it when she came in to check on Sam and record what he'd eaten. "How's your stomach?"

Sam had fallen back onto the bed and closed his eyes, one hand pressed to his stomach. "Not bad, I'm not gonna puke this time." He replied after a few tense seconds in which Dean was sure Sam was going to bring everything he'd eaten back up. He could tell it was only sheer determination that kept him from doing it.

Relief washed over him and he grinned. "Good, 'cause dude, that last time was a really nasty Linda Blair. I mean, seriously, you almost hit the wall."

Sam cracked one eye and glared at him. "Dean, go to sleep, would you? I did not projectile vomit. I'm tired and sore and really want to go back to sleep, so do you mind?"

Sam's snarky comments had stopped bothering Dean, so he just shrugged and pulled himself up onto the opposite bed, resting against the pillows with a sigh. They'd told him he could use the extra bed when it became clear neither brother was willing to be separated again. "Sure, Sam. Goodnight."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: **So, this chapter is slightly boring, and I did a pretty poor job of Pastor Jim. He's rather redundant, but I needed someone to state the obvious to Dean, who is the type that needs that. This is the only chapter he'll be in, unfortunately, because I'm terrible at writing him. I'll have the next chapter up in a couple days, I just have to do some editing.

**Disclaimer**: Nope, still not mine.

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It was another week before Dr. Lacey was willing to talk about releasing Sam, seven days of the same boring routine that had both brothers climbing the walls, but more Sam than Dean. At least Dean could leave, which he did occasionally though he never went for more than an hour and Sister Mary Catherine told Sam that Dean never left the hospital grounds. Sam was stuck in his room with nothing to do but flip through the few channels on the TV and watch crappy daytime programming, and there was only so much Days of our Lives or As the World Turns he could take.

Finally though, four weeks and three days after he had fallen off a cliff, Sam lay still in his bed while Dr. Lacey examined him, trying to hide the cringes and hisses of pain when the doctor hit a particularly sore spot. Neither Dr. Lacey nor Dean was fooled, that much he could tell by the looks they were giving him. He knew his game was up when the doctor pressed on his abdomen, right over his bruised kidneys and he shot up with a curse. The movement set off a round of shooting pains from his leg, ribs and pelvis that in turn caused a string of hissed curses.

"So, that's definitely still tender," Dr. Lacey replied as Dean wrapped a comforting arm around Sam's shoulder and eased his brother back onto the bed. Sam lay there with his eyes scrunched up, panting through the pain. "That'll hurt for a few more weeks, for sure. Your internal organs take longer to heal, and we had to cut through your stomach muscles, so it's probably quite painful. You'll need to take it very easy and don't overdo it for at least another month."

Sam's eyes flew open at the doctor's words. "Are you saying I can leave?" he asked suspiciously. It had sounded like it, but he wasn't taking any chances. At this point he was starting to think they planned on keeping him permanently. He understood that he'd been in a coma for half the month and had been weak as a newborn for another week and a half afterwards, but he still thought a month was more than enough time.

Dr. Lacey nodded, but held up a hand. "Yes, I'm saying you can leave later today if you want. I want you to stick around for one more round of IV fluids and antibiotics, because I like to play it safe, and you'll have to follow strict guidelines, but I can't see a reason to keep you here," he replied. "Your lung is doing much better, your internal injuries are looking good, you've been off oxygen for a few days now, and you've been able to keep down sufficient amounts of food."

Sam exchanged a grin with Dean. "Sure, Doc. I'll do anything as long as I can leave," he said enthusiastically, happier than he'd been since the whole mess began.

Two hours later Sam wasn't so happy anymore. He'd discovered he couldn't fit his casted foot and leg into his jeans and couldn't bend over enough thanks to his still healing busted ribs and leg to get his own pants on. Actually, he couldn't even get his own shirt on. The pain meds they'd shot him full of for the ride home went a long way to help the pain, but not enough to allow him enough movement to get the shirt on. Dropping the black t-shirt he had been trying to get on with a grunt of pain and defeat, he held it out to Dean. "Fine, you win. I need help."

"Why don't you leave the t-shirt for now and stick to button up?" Dean asked, surprising Sam with the reasonable suggestion. "Doc says in another week you shouldn't have so much trouble."

Nodding, Sam took the blue button-up shirt from Dean and let his brother help him get his arms into it without jarring anything too much, noting absently that Dean was dressed the same way, with just a green button up and no t-shirt, then remembering his brother's damaged ribs.

He was able to do the buttons up on his own. When he was done he groaned at the sight of the boxers and sweats that were waiting for him. He definitely wasn't going to be making any fashion statements but then Dean had made it clear he was going straight to the impala and then to the cabin, so it wasn't too bad.

"Let's get this over with," he said finally. Dean moved in, stretching the boxers over Sam's foot and tugging them up his legs, then helping him stand and pulling them up far enough that Sam could grab them and finish the job. They repeated the process with the sweats until Sam sat on the bed fully dressed.

Sister Mary Catherine chose that moment to walk into the room with a wheelchair, a bright smile on her face. "Your carriage awaits, Sam." She said with a cheerful smile.

"Oh, come on. I've spent the last five weeks in bed. Can't I walk out?" he asked petulantly.

"Dude, in case you haven't noticed, you can't even dress yourself. How are you gonna walk out?" Dean asked, levering him up and manoeuvring him into the wheelchair. Frowning, Sam ignored his brother's comment and without another word he was wheeled out by Sister Mary Catherine, with Dean bringing up the rear carrying his crutches, bag of toiletries and prescriptions.

Hitting the doors of the hospital he was surprised to see the Impala waiting at the curb and couldn't help a grin that spread across his face. The sun felt great on his skin and the sight of the car, the closest thing he had to a real home, made his bad mood evaporate and brought back his former good mood.

"Now, you take care, Sam, and when you come back for your check-ups and physiotherapy stop by if you have time to say hi. You know where to find me," Sister Mary Catherine said, helping Dean get him up and into the car where he was wrapped snugly in a blanket. The pain meds were really starting to take effect and combined with the toll just moving to the car had taken on him he was ready to sleep, so he snuggled into the warmth.

"Thank you, Sister Mary Catherine, I promise to stop off and say hi," he said to the nun, his eyelids already drooping. He heard her chuckle and felt his blanket wrapped a little tighter around him, then his grizzly was tucked into his arms, and that was the last thing he was aware of.

"Thanks, Sister, I mean it. You've been a big help. I don't know what we would have done without you," Dean said after getting Sam settled in the car and stowing his crutches and bag in the back seat. He had taken a liking to the nun and knew she felt the same about them. She wasn't like most of the people they met in their travels. "We'll come back and visit when I bring Sam in for checkups."

"You take care of that brother of yours; don't tease him too badly about the coat and bear," Sister Mary Catherine replied sternly. Her face broke into a smile and she gave Dean a tight hug, then turned and headed back into the hospital. "And take care of yourself Dean. Watch out for those poltergeists, even the best of hunters need to be careful around them."

Dean stared at the woman's retreating back with shock, then laughed. Somehow it didn't surprise him Sister Mary Catherine knew about hunters, or that she'd never let on she knew. It would be just like her.

Still chuckling he limped over to the driver's side and slid in, glancing over to check on Sam. The younger Winchester was sound asleep, his head resting against the window. Satisfied, Dean steered the car out of the hospital and towards the hotel, making a quick stop at a pharmacy to pick up Sam's prescriptions.

Half an hour later he pulled into the hotel and drove around to their cabin, on the end of a row of cabins, each one ringed by trees and fences made of thick bushes to give the guests some privacy. Coming into view of the structure he was surprised to see a figure dressed in black sitting on the bench in front of the door.

He pulled into the designated parking spot, conveniently right in front of the door and hoped out. "Pastor Jim!" What are you doing here?" Dean couldn't suppress the surprise in his voice at the sight of their old friend.

"I called the hospital a couple of days ago when you didn't call back after taking care of that poltergeist for me," the priest explained as he moved forward to help with the bags. Dean opened the cabin door and returned to the car to open the trunk. The two men picked up the supplies, which Dean wanted to get inside before he took Sam in. He couldn't hide a slight wince when his still tender ribs made it clear he was still healing himself.

"And that, Dean, is why I'm here. A very kind nursing sister, Mary Catherine I believe her name was, told me what had happened once she learned who I was." Pastor Jim gave Dean a deliberate look, reaching over to take the heavy weapon's duffle out of Dean's hand. "You can't take care of Sam when you're hurt yourself. You should have called me."

As he moved to bring in crutches, which was the only thing Pastor Jim would let him carry, Dean paused to peek at Sam. The younger Winchester was still asleep, resting against the door. He wouldn't have to worry about Sam waking up before he got back to bring him inside, at least.

The cabin was as nice as the room they'd stayed in before in the main hotel. The door opened into a living room with a comfortable looking couch and two easy chairs, TV and DVD player, while two bedrooms and a bathroom were to the left. On the other side of the living room was a full kitchen with a fridge, a stove and even a dishwasher, and a small dining room with a table and four chairs. Glass doors off the kitchen led out onto a patio where he could just see a table and chairs and a barbeque. Everything was furnished in a nautical theme, which was much better than most of the places they stayed in. It wasn't over the top or gaudy, just simple and welcoming.

Dean took in everything as he moved through the place, quickly checking it out and directing Pastor Jim to set their stuff in the bedroom nearest the door, which contained two double beds before heading back out to get Sam.

Back at the car he eased the door open, reaching a hand in once it was cracked and bracing Sam's shoulder so his brother wouldn't topple out. Opening the door all the way he knelt down and patted Sam's cheek, supporting his head at the same time. "Sam, wake up. We're at the hotel, time to go inside bro."

"Nnn, tiiireeedd," Sam mumbled, shifting a little. The movement jarred all his injuries, making him gasp, his eyes flying open. Without the stronger IV pain meds he was quickly finding out just how painful everything was. Even with what was in his system he was surprised.

"Hey, relax, take it easy." Dean cautioned, grasping Sam's shoulders to keep him from falling. Sam slumped back and groaned, closing his eyes again. "No, don't go to sleep; stay awake Sammy, just until we get inside, ok?"

Sam didn't answer though he did peer blearily at Dean, his eyes foggy with the pain medication they'd given him for the drive home, so Dean took the silence as agreement. "Think you can stand up?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm ok." Sam slurred.

"Yeah right," Dean replied. "How about you let me do the work. Just move where I tell you, ok?" Sam nodded, his head flopping onto his chest and not coming back up. Shaking his head, Dean eased his brother's head back before easing Sam's legs out of the car, being careful of his casted one. Once Sam was manoeuvred into a workable position, Dean shifted under his arm and heaved him up, one arm wrapped around Sam's waist.

Sam gasped and swayed as he was lifted, his body objecting to the new position and the movement. His one good leg buckled and he would have fallen if not for Dean, who just muttered something and scooped him up in his arms despite his own injuries, carrying him into the cabin.

As Sam collapsed with a grunt of pain Dean cursed to himself and deftly swung his little brother into his arms. It wasn't the best way to carry Sam, who was normally too heavy and lanky to carry, but it wasn't as hard as usual even with his ribs and leg loudly protesting the load. Sam had lost a lot of weight in the hospital and while he was still awkwardly huge, he was considerably lighter than he usually was. It was only with a bit of effort that Dean carried him inside and into the bedroom, settling him on the bed furthest from the door.

Sam was already dressed in his sweats and a shirt, so all Dean had to do was tug off his shoes and socks and tuck him up under the covers. Pulling the blankets up to Sam's chin, he brushed a hand through his brother's hair and smiled. "Go to sleep, Sam. I'll bring you in something to eat in a bit, ok?'

His eyes still closed, Sam just let out a breathy sigh in response and let himself drift off, warm and comfortable and relatively pain free now that he wasn't moving. He had hoped to stay awake a bit, see the place they were staying and talk to Dean, but the drive had exhausted him and the pain meds were pulling him under.

Once Sam's breathing evened into sleep Dean straightened up and headed out into the main room. He found Pastor Jim putting away groceries in the kitchen, which he must have brought with him since Dean hadn't brought any. He'd planned on ordering in until Sam was well enough to be left alone for a quick supermarket run.

"Sam settled ok?" Pastor Jim asked, setting aside a can of soup from the stuff he was putting in the cupboard.

"Yeah, he's asleep." Dean replied. Easing into one of the tall chairs at the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room he watched the priest for a minute before speaking. "So, Sister Mary Catherine told you everything, huh? Why am I not surprised."

Pastor Jim chuckled. "She seemed quite concerned about the two of you, and you in particular." Setting a jug of milk, cheese and butter in the fridge he turned to fill two mugs with coffee from the coffee maker Dean saw was dripping and spluttering merrily away on the counter. "She told me you have two broken ribs, a sprained knee and a nasty gash on your leg, which I might add means you're supposed to be using a cane to walk with."

Dean accepted the offered mug and took a sip of the bitter drink. "I'm ok, and I don't need a cane. My leg barely hurts." When Pastor Jim just raised an eyebrow at him, he sighed. "Ok, fine. My ribs hurt. But really, my leg is barely sore. I was fine to carry Sam in here and that's the important thing."

"Be that as it may, I came to help for a couple of days. I hope you don't mind me staying here with you. I'll only be here a few days, I've been away from the church for too long, but you need to heal a little more before you're left alone." He chose to ignore the comment about Dean being able to carry Sam in; arguing with the young man about taking care of his little brother was as useful as trying to convert a demon.

"No, the other room is all yours. Sammy and I are good in the room he's in." Clearing his throat, Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a clear sign to those who knew him that he was uncomfortable. "And...uh...thanks, Jim."

"No thanks needed, you boys are family, you know that. Just be glad Bobby is off hunting a selkie on the west coast. He was ready to come out here and tear a strip off you for not calling him once I explained what had happened. You'd better be careful with Caleb for a while too." Grinning at Dean's groan, he chuckled before turning serious. "Dean, Sister Mary Catherine told me what happened. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to take that hunt."

"No, Jim, it's not your fault. That poltergeist had to be stopped, it was hurting kids." Shrugging, Dean closed his eyes for a minute. He wished everyone would stop apologizing. First Sister Mary Catherine, now Pastor Jim. It was his fault and his alone for leaving Sam. "It's my fault. I should have known Sammy wasn't thinking straight. I walked out on him and he thought I'd really left. It was stupid."

He set down his mug and cupped his hands around it, staring down into the black liquid. "I left him because his friends didn't like me. It was stupid and immature, and he got hurt. If I'd been there none of this would have happened. And then I left him again because he said things I should have known he didn't mean, and it hurt him again. He wasn't eating, he was refusing medication; he could have died. Hell it meant he had to stay in the hospital over a week longer."

"Dean, don't blame yourself," Pastor Jim replied softly. He knew Dean well, and knew the young man insisted on always taking the blame onto his own shoulders, no matter who was at fault. "You couldn't have prevented Sam from getting hurt just by being there." When Dean didn't say anything he sighed. "Sam was going to go hiking that day anyway, right?"

"Yeah. I was supposed to go with them, and I didn't."

"Then he probably would have been hurt anyway, and if you were there you could very well have fallen as well and not been there when Sam needed you." Pastor Jim nodded when Dean looked up, making eye contact with him. He stood and went to the counter where he began to make the soup he'd set aside. "You were there when Sam needed you the most. You always are. That's what you should concentrate on Dean. It wasn't your fault he was hurt, and he doesn't blame you, I know that."

"Yeah, well, I blame me. That's enough," Dean replied but he wasn't as convinced. It terrified him that he could have been hurt, not because he was scared for himself but because he was terrified of what would have happened if he hadn't been there with Sam to help him recover. Now that the thought had been planted in his mind he couldn't help but think about what Pastor Jim had said. He was just tipping the mug to his lips to drain the last of the coffee when a soft call and quiet rustling came from the bedroom. He was on his feet immediately, the mug thunking, forgotten, onto the countertop.

In the bedroom he found Sam moving restlessly, sweat beading his brow. "Sam, hey. Wake up little brother." Dean called, hurrying to the side of the bed and taking Sam's hand in his once he recognized his brother was having a nightmare. "Come on, wake up. It's ok, I'm here."

It worked and after a minute Sam opened his eyes, the nightmare he'd been having receding slowly from his consciousness. "Dean?" he asked hazily, blinking up at his brother.

"Yeah, it's me. You were having a nightmare again."

"Oh." Sam closed his eyes for a minute, trying to remember it but it was gone. "Don't remember." He vaguely remembered Dean leaving and not coming back, but he'd been having nightmares since waking up in the hospital, so he couldn't be sure he was remembering the right one.

"That's ok. You hungry?" Dean asked, deciding to change the topic. He could tell Sam really didn't remember the nightmare, so he was more than willing to let it drop when normally he'd push his brother to talk about it.

"Not really. Feel sick." Sam was still woozy, the pain pills they'd given him for the ride home lingering in his system. "Thirsty, though."

"Well, you have to eat so you can take your pills. Pastor Jim is making some soup for you." Moving around Dean helped Sam sit up against the headboard of the bed, propped up against pillows. All the moving and reaching hurt Dean's ribs, pulling and straining them, but he kept any pain to himself so he didn't worry Sam.

"Pastor Jim is here?"

"Yeah, he came to help out for a couple of days," Dean replied. Sam stared long and hard at his brother, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the way he favoured his broken ribs and leg, and the occasional wince he was trying to hide. He knew why Pastor Jim was there, but he didn't say anything.

A few minutes later Pastor Jim arrived, a tray containing a bowl and two cups in his hands. "Hello Sam," he said cheerfully, setting the tray on the younger man's lap. "I brought chicken soup and tea for you, and Dean here another cup of coffee."

Sam just shrugged. He wasn't hungry. Actually, like he'd told Dean he felt sick and he wasn't sure anything would stay in his stomach if he put it there. But he knew Dean was going to make him eat at least a few mouthfuls. Since he'd refused food for three days while Dean had been gone his brother had been adamant that he eat and drink plenty. "Thanks Jim. Good to see you, and thanks for coming," he said to the priest.

"No problem, I'm happy to help out and I was in the area anyway." Smiling, Jim patted Sam's arm and moved away. "I'm going to go take a nap, it's been a long day for me. If either of you need me just call."

When Pastor Jim was gone, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the spoon, since Sam was still too shaky to feed himself. "Here, you need to eat." He said with a small smile.

Sam just nodded and opened his mouth, letting Dean spoon some of the broth into it. Dean stayed away from the noodles and chicken pieces, instead just feeding Sam the broth, which Sam was grateful for. He didn't think he could stomach anything even remotely solid. He wasn't even sure he could take the broth, but he'd try it for Dean.

The broth was interspersed with sips from the tea, and by the time Sam shook his head to signal he couldn't take anymore Dean was pleased to see that Sam had eaten most of the soup and all the tea. "Good, Sammy. You ate almost all of it. That's awesome."

"Dude, don't talk to me like I'm five," Sam griped, frowning at his brother while he held his arm protectively over his stomach. "And don't praise me yet. Wait until I keep the damn stuff down first." He wasn't really mad but his stomach was rolling and it was making him a little testy.

"Just breathe, nice even breaths," Dean said, moving the tray away and resting a hand on Sam's shoulder. His brother did look fairly green. "Dude, you gotta keep the food down, or it's back to the hospital. You know that."

"Yeah, I know." The doctor had been adamant that not being able to keep food down meant he needed to go back to the hospital, though they'd been told one of the medications would make him nauseous. How they expected him to keep food down while taking medication that made it want to come back up he wasn't sure.

After a few minutes of slow, careful breathing, his stomach settled down and Sam sagged back into the pillows with a relieved sigh.

"Ok now?" Dean still hovered, looking worried and casting glances at the waste can by his feet.

"Yeah, I'm good." Sighing again Sam let his head sink further into the pillows as his eyes closed. Eating had taken most of his energy and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for a while. Dean noticed, and gently eased him back down flat in the bed, tucking the blankets around his shoulders.

"Go to sleep Sammy."

"Mmmm." Sam replied before letting himself slip off.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: **So, here it is, Chapter 13! Can I just say WOW!!! I never planned this story to be so long - it was only supposed to be four or five chapters - and here we are at chapter 13!

A huge THANK YOU! to everyone who has stuck with it and read this, and sent reviews. I love the reviews, your suggestions are great and I've taken it all into consideration when writing. The story itself is finished, I just have to edit and split it into the final chapters. There will probably be 15 at least in total, and they will come a lot faster from now on.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, as usual, the boys are not mine.

* * *

The next two days passed in a hazy blur for Sam. The day they had arrived he'd slept for a few hours before Dean had woken him from a nightmare he didn't remember, but could guess at. After that he'd gone back to sleep until morning. The following days were the same; he spent them sleeping, interspersed with brief periods of wakefulness when Dean plied him with soup or yoghurt or jell-o, the only things his tender throat and touchy stomach would tolerate, and the myriad pills he was supposed to take. Sometimes Pastor Jim came in and sat with them, talking and telling them about hunts and things.

On the third morning he was pleasantly surprised to wake up before Dean came into the room with breakfast. Blinking his eyes open he stared at the ceiling while the fuzz cleared slowly from his brain. He was surprised he'd been sleeping so much, after spending a month in the hospital doing mostly that. But it had always been that way; feeling good enough to get out of the hospital but realizing once home he wasn't as healed as he thought he was and ending up spending a few days sleeping like the dead.

By the time the partially closed door nudged open and Dean appeared with a tray in his hands he was mostly awake but still fuzzy enough from sleep and the lingering effect of his pain pills that he blinked blearily at his brother.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty is awake," Dean exclaimed with a grin. Setting down the tray he moved over and helped Sam sit up against the headboard, supported by a pile of pillows. Grabbing the tray again he set it on Sam's lap. "I figured you're probably sick of yogurt and jell-o for breakfast so I thought we'd try some oatmeal today," he declared, trying to sound optimistic. The medication Sam was on combined with his injuries made him pretty nauseous, but his little brother had looked nauseous at the sight of more jell-o the day before; he figured it wouldn't hurt to try something else.

"No more Jell-o. I've had enough of that stuff to last a lifetime," Sam moaned good-naturedly. He really was sick of jell-o, especially since for some reason they only had red and green. Dean had pointed to Pastor Jim and shook his head when Sam had enquired, so he hadn't pushed it.

Picking up the spoon with only mildly shaky hands he dug into the oatmeal, glad he could feed himself now and glad he could eat more than just a few mouthfuls of soup at a time. It was bad enough Dean had to help him to the bathroom and wait on him hand and foot. He ate slowly and steadily, the way he'd discovered his stomach preferred as well as to savour the hot oats flavoured with milk and cinnamon, and after half an hour had most of oatmeal eaten. Setting the spoon back down he sighed, feeling full and contented from the meal for the first time in weeks. It was amazing what eating something other than jell-o and broth or the indistinguishable hospital mush could do.

"Good?" Dean asked with a grin at Sam's sigh, taking the tray away and steadying his brother's hands while he took a few sips of orange juice. It was ok for Sam to spoon relatively solid oatmeal or jell-o into his mouth, but his hands weren't quite steady enough yet for glasses of liquid.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam replied. "Where's Jim?"

Nodding, Dean took the tray out to the kitchen before returning, still with a grin on his face, in time to hear Sam's question. "He went home. Said we could do fine without him now my ribs are feeling a lot better, and he didn't want to leave the church empty for too long. He came here straight from a hunt, so he's been away for almost two weeks. He told me he'd only be here for a couple of days anyway." He continued to grin at Sam.

"What?" Sam asked warily. It wasn't always a good thing when Dean looked so happy about something. Last time was just before he'd left for Stanford, and he'd ended up in a crappy bar trying to fend off the attentions of a woman who looked like she'd been there for longer than the bar had, while Dean looked on in delight at his little brother's distress.

Thinking of Stanford, though, made the contented bubble that had been growing inside Sam since he had woken up burst, and his face fell.

"What, what is it?" Dean asked, his own smile fading, replaced with a worried frown. "Do you need to lay down? Your pelvis must be sore, you need more pain meds."

"Nothing, I'm ok. I'm not sore, really, I'm fine," Sam replied then sighed again, in resignation this time. "Dean, we need to talk about what happened." He made the decision on the spur of the moment.

Giving a sigh that mirrored Sam's Dean sat on the edge of the bed and gave the younger man a sad look. He'd been expecting this and wished Sam had held off a while longer. "Can this wait, just a little longer?" he asked pleadingly.

"Please, Dean. We need to talk. I need to talk." Sam struggled into a more comfortable position on the bed, Dean reaching out to help him and adjust the pillows. When he was comfortable he stared at his hands for a minute before looking up at Dean. He'd thought about everything that had happened a lot, and come to a few realizations.

"Listen man, I'm sorry for everything I said," he began, deciding to start with what he'd said to Dean in the hospital. "I didn't mean it; I know you'd never leave me but everything was so confused that I didn't know what I was thinking. The drugs they kept pumping me full of made it hard to sort everything out, and I thought you wanted to leave. I kept remembering Krista telling me you weren't there and that you had left; I knew she was wrong but I didn't, you know? But I didn't, and I thought you didn't want to be there." He should have known what was going on, and part of him did. Dean had been there for everything, every time he'd woken up his brother had been there to ease his fear, given him water, or whatever he needed. He couldn't believe, once he'd thought about it, that he had ever thought Dean wanted to leave.

Dean rubbed absently at the healing gash on his leg and shifted to sit in a way that eased the slight pull that was still there on his ribs. "Sam, I never would have left you," he replied. "And I'm sorry I went on that hunt, I never should have gone. I – "he stopped, at a loss for how to say how terrified he'd been when Sister Mary Catherine had called. But what the hell, he'd been chick-flick enough lately that it wouldn't really hurt him to out and say it. "When they called to tell me you hadn't been eating and that you were refusing your pain meds I....that terrified me. And when I got back and saw you laying there, looking like you were...I've never been so scared in my life. God, you'd just come out of a coma and there you were staring at the wall, so still and...." he trailed off, unable to finish the thought. "I would never leave you Sam, never. I should have known you weren't thinking right."

Looking at Sam and putting everything he usually hid into his look so Sam knew he was telling the truth, he continued "but your friends, the way they treated me, I couldn't take it." He wasn't used to being so open and found it hard to tell Sam how much the spitefulness of three idiots had hurt him, so stopped talking there and looked down at the bed, toying with a piece of string.

Sam didn't know what to say at first, his eyes tearing up at the look Dean was giving him. "Dude, I'm sorry. I wasn't treating you much better than they were, huh?" he asked. Dean wasn't looking at him anymore so he reached out and rested a hand on his brother's arm, making him look up. When he did, Sam continued. "I realized the day Krista, Justin, Jonathan and I went hiking that everything you had said was right. They're horrible rich snobs." He gave a watery smile at Dean's snort. "They were trying to get me to go back to Stanford. Krista's father had talked to the board of governors and was sure he could get them to take me back."

Dean looked up at Sam again and frowned, suddenly worried about what his brother was going to say. "So you could go back if you want to?"

It was Sam's turn to snort. "Dean, I'm not going back. Yeah, it was fun for a while hanging out with my friends, but I need to find Dad, and Jessica's killer. And you're more important to me than them. What kind of friend tells me you left and don't want to come back when I'm lying at the bottom of a ravine, or in a hospital room? "

Nodding, Dean sighed. "And Sam, I'm sorry I walked out. I should have been there but I wasn't, and you got hurt. Maybe - "

"Dean stop. Don't say it," Sam cut in. He knew where his brother was heading. "You couldn't have known this would happen, that the path would collapse." Reaching out again he cupped Dean's face and forced his brother to look at him when Dean tried to turn away. "It was an accident. A freak, stupid, random accident. It probably would have happened if you were there, too. It was just one of those things."

Seeing the certainty in Sam's eyes Dean nodded. He wasn't as sure as his brother but Pastor Jim had said the same thing, which had gotten him thinking, and he was willing to live with it if Sam said so. "So, we good?"

Sam nodded, smiling. "Yeah, we're good," he replied, but added "except for one thing."

"Wha –"

Before Dean could finish was yanked into a bone-crushing hug. He could feel Sam tense against him and heard the hiss of pain his brother let escape. Grumbling under his breath he wrapped his arms around Sam and shifted them so that Sam wasn't leaning forward. After a minute he pulled back and smiled, wiping his eyes that the dryness of the room was making water.

"So, bitch, you want to watch a movie? I'll help you get out to the living room."

"Sure, jerk." Sam replied, glad things were getting better. There was something else he needed to do before everything would be fully ok, but that would have to wait until he was healed.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Blinking and reaching a hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes Sam looked around the room, which he didn't even remember Dean helping him back into. It was the first time he'd been awake and aware enough to actually take in where he was when he thought to. Before everything had been a blur of sleeping, drugged haze and pain in the hospital which had turned into a blur of sleep and semi-drugged haze interspersed with brief periods where Dean was changing his bandages or forcing food and pills on him. Then he and Dean had talked about everything and he'd started moving between the living room and bedroom, but usually when he was in the room he was asleep or too out of it to really look around.

Now, a little over two weeks since he'd been let out of the hospital he was finally feeling human again. He'd been to see Dr. Lacey for a check-up with Dean the day before and it had been pronounced that he was healing slowly but well given his level of injury. His pelvis and ribs were doing "very good considering" and his liver was doing just as well. All his bruises were gone, and he'd be having the cast removed from his leg in another couple weeks if all went well. And after the cast was off he was supposed to have a few weeks of physiotherapy, though he doubted they'd be hanging around for that. They were used to being injured so they'd take care of it on the road. They'd probably be long gone before the cast came off anyway.

Now the worst part was the pain he was still in and the weakness. His ribs twinged whenever he moved too fast or too far and his abdomen and pelvis were still very sore despite how well they were healing, and he still spent at least half the day sleeping. Dean had mentioned it to Dr. Lacey and they'd been assured it was normal. It was uncomfortable, though, and he couldn't wait until he could move around better and stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time.

The first thing he saw when he looked around was the grizzly bear, tucked under his arm. Dean had claimed his coat the day he'd left the hospital, he'd been told. He didn't remember any of it but believed he'd held tight to the coat; it had always been a comfort to him and he'd clung to it plenty of times growing up. Moving his arm to grasp the bear and pull it out to look at it better squeezed it, making it roar in fury. "Shit!" he exclaimed, almost dropping it in surprise. He stared at it for a minute trying to work out why he had a bear in his arms. He'd been told of the coat, sure, but he had a feeling Dean had left something important out that involved the bear. Thinking hard he vaguely remembered reaching for something a couple of times as he had fallen asleep and thought maybe someone had tucked something into his arms in the car the day he'd left the hospital, but those memories were hazy at best.

"So, you found your bear, huh?" Dean asked, coming into the room. He scratched absently at his thigh while he walked with the hand that wasn't holding a breakfast tray loaded with food.

"Dude, why do I have a grizzly bear?" Sam asked with a confused look at his brother. "And stop scratching at the stitches. It's your fault Dr. Lacey had to re-stitch that gash. You should have taken care of it." The same check-up the day before had been for Dean as well, and he'd had to have the gash on his thigh re-opened and re-stitched when Dr. Lacey had found out Dean hadn't had the stitches taken out. They'd healed into the skin and become infected, and had to be cut out. Now his brother was sporting a new set of stitches in the gash, though it wasn't as bad as it had been the first time.

Dean gave him a lopsided grin and set the tray down. "I got it for you in the gift shop. You haven't let go if it since then," he replied, moving to take the bear and giving it a squeeze. His grin widened when it roared, though Sam could see the tenderness in the look as well. It felt good to joke and tease, and he'd been finding it easier since Sam got out of the hospital. His little brother was looking better, his bruises gone and his injuries healing. "It was cute, you all cuddled up with your bear."

"Shut up," Sam replied, reaching up to seize the bear and pull it out of his brother's hand. Instead of putting it back under his arm he set it on the nightstand, though. He was a little embarrassed he'd clung to a stuffed animal for close to two months but somehow he didn't mind since it was from Dean. It was a cool bear, anyway.

"I can get up to eat breakfast, you know." He motioned at the breakfast tray on the bed, deciding to change the subject. Dean was finally back to himself except for being a mother hen. He didn't want to bring up everything again.

"Yeah, but Dr. Lacey said you're supposed to take it easy still, so you're eating in bed." The older Winchester set the tray on Sam's lap and climbed up onto the bed beside him, a little disappointed. He'd hoped for a bigger reaction to the grizzly. It'd been a little anticlimactic in his opinion. "I picked up a tourist guide, thought it'd be cool to see some sights while we're out of commission," he added, reaching for a piece of toast and munching on it while he flipped through the thick booklet.

"See some sights?" Sam asked curiously. "Who are you and where is my brother?" Then, for effect he added "Christo."

"I'm not possessed," Dean deadpanned, reaching for a piece of bacon. "I just thought it would be fun."

"Dude, stay out of my breakfast. I swear you have two hollow legs," Sam exclaimed. Picking up his fork he stabbed it at Dean's hand, grinning in triumph when Dean yanked the offending limb away from the tray. Satisfied Sam returned to eating his scrambled eggs, though he kept one eye on his brother just in case. "So what's that tourist thing say?"

Grinning again Dean sent one last glance to Sam's plate and decided that, as diminished as Sam's reflexes were, he didn't want to chance ending up with a fork through his hand. He continued to flip through the brochure. "Well, whale watching is out....nature hikes are definitely a no-go....kayaking is definitely out....Is there anything around here for someone who can't do the whole nature-boy thing?" Grimacing, Dean continued to flip pages. "Ha! What about the Abbé Museum? Listen: "The most fascinating journey in Bar Harbour begins at the Abbé Museum! Discover the story of the first people of Maine through exhibitions and programs that span 10,000 years of history, art and archaeology. Learn about the Native people of Maine today and enjoy their songs and stories, arts and crafts. Visit the Museum Shop for high quality gifts crafted by Maine Native people."

"Sounds interesting," Sam replied. Setting the fork down he leaned over to look at the pictures of the museum in the book. "Could find some interesting lore in there on the natives in the area, maybe something that will help us in future hunts."

Flipping the page, Dean looked at the next attraction. "Here, what about Acadia Island Tours Oli's Trolleys?" he said, pointing to an entry on the page. "Allow us to take you on a historical tour of the days gone by and transport you back to the cottage days of Bar Harbour with whimsical tales of a lost era." He looked up at Sam. "That sounds like it could be interesting."

Sam frowned slightly. They did sound interesting, for him at least. "Yeah, for me," he replied, voicing his thoughts. "You'll be bored to tears. And last time we went to a museum you got bored and ended up trying to play with a sword." He grimaced at the memory of a fifteen year old Dean trying to pick up the medieval longsword. "We were lucky to just get kicked out."

"Dude, it was boring! Who actually enjoys looking at old pieces of pottery and arrowheads and stuff? They didn't even have a mummy to liven things up."

Rolling his eyes Sam shoved the last scrap of toast in his mouth and grabbed the tourist guide. Flipping through it, he skimmed the pages for something that would entertain Dean too. He knew what his brother was doing, trying to make sure Sam enjoyed himself even if he didn't. "Here, what about the Atlantic Brewing Company?" he asked. "You can see where Bar Harbour's local beer, wine and soda are produced. They even have free tasting and the famous Dougie Douglas Mainely Meat Barbeque."

Grabbing the guide back Dean read the entry and smiled. "That looks fun. Why don't we go to the museum this morning, and if you're up to it we'll go to this brewing company place this afternoon? Get in some sightseeing before we leave."

"Sure, just let me get dressed. Help me up, will ya?" Sam agreed, lifting the tray for Dean to take and waiting for help getting out of the bed. He could do it himself but it was still a struggle, and Dean helping him was a lot faster and considerably less painful. As healed as his pelvis was standing up and sitting down were painful and difficult and he still needed some help showering and dressing, embarrassingly enough. But as embarrassing as it was he knew speed was the key. Dean seemed to have forgotten that he wanted Sam to stay in bed and rest, and Sam wasn't about to waste time trying to do things himself in case Dean remember it.


	14. Chapter 14

So here it is, Chapter 14! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Still don't own the boys, sadly enough.

* * *

"That was awesome!" Dean exclaimed, rubbing his stomach and grinning widely as he and Sam made their way slowly out of the Atlantic Brewing Company building.

"That was gross. I never want to see you eat that much again," Sam replied with a grimace. "And you owe me for the museum." He grunted in pain as he swung his crutch forward. The day had been fun and he had enjoyed spending time with his brother away from hunting, but being on his feet all day was making his pelvis and leg ache. And his shoulder, he thought with mild irritation, shifting the crutch under the arm that had been stuck with a branch. He hadn't really noticed the injury since the sling came off while he was still in the hospital, but then he hadn't really done anything strenuous either. He'd been eager to get out of the cabin but now he was suspecting he shouldn't have rushed it so much.

"Aw, come on Sammy. It was an accident!"

Sam glared at Dean. "You knocked over an entire display!" he exclaimed.

Giving Sam a guilty look and feeling bad for getting them kicked out of the museum Dean shrugged. "I didn't mean to. The kid tripped me." It was true; he'd turned to find a bench for Sam to sit down for a bit when his brother had started looking a little tired. As he'd taken a step forward a kid had appeared in front of him. He'd tried to avoid the little rugrat but hadn't been able to. Rather than crash into Sam he'd twisted the other way, which had unfortunately carried him into a display of pottery and arrowheads.

"Yeah, ok," Sam gave in and eased himself into the Impala's passenger seat with Dean's help, relinquishing his crutches and settling himself comfortably. He grinned, waggling his eyebrows teasingly. "For the great hunter Dean Winchester, those were some amazing ballet moves you made trying to avoid that kid. A perfect pirouette, and the arm flailing." Ignoring the rude gesture Dean gave him and failing to hold back his snorts of laughter, he shrugged. "Anyway, I may have found us a hunt."

"No. No hunting, absolutely not," Dean replied. Turing the ignition he eased the Impala out onto the street and headed towards their hotel. "You're in no shape to hunt; you're barely on your feet after a day out, and besides we're on vacation right now."

"We don't have to take it right now but we can do some research, figure out what's going on. When I'm better we can deal with the hunt." Sam gave his brother a pleading look. He was getting bored, and when the tour guide had mentioned the ghost story surrounding the bluff he'd been hurt on, it had reminded him that he'd wanted to check it out with Dean before everything had happened. "It's the one I told you about before. The boy who died on the bluff and kills young men. The tour guide says he's been responsible for several accidents up there."

Sam waited for Dean's reaction and wasn't disappointed. Dean slammed on the breaks, yanked the car over onto the shoulder of the road in a squeal of tires and turned to give him an incredulous look. "On the bluff? The same bluff you were almost killed on?" His voice rose in pitch with each word. Sam was not telling him the accident that had almost killed him wasn't an accident at all. He wasn't. There was no way his little brother was only telling him that tiny piece of hugely important information nearly two months after the fact, after he'd almost died.

"The same one. The same spot, actually," Sam replied, grimacing at the pain the motion of the car had caused. Maybe he should have thought of a better way to tell Dean, but it was too late now. "Apparently there have been a few other accidents up there. The authorities seem to put everything down to unsafe hiking or freak accidents, but they all happen along the same mile of trail."

Giving Sam a hard look Dean pulled the car back onto the road and headed back to the hotel. He didn't say another word until he had Sam settled on the couch, swathed in blankets to ward off the chill his brother was trying to hide, and was sitting on the chair across from him. "What else did you find out?"

"So we're going to hunt this spirit?" Sam suppressed a victorious grin and pasted a serious look on his face, though he suspected the effect was ruined when he snuggled down deeper into the blankets, soaking up the warmth. He was really starting to hate the chill he couldn't seem to shake, especially when it detracted from his attempt at looking healthy enough to hunt.

"First things first, we do research Sammy," Dean replied after a minute. He'd gotten his anger under control in the car, though it was a tenuous hold. "When you're ready to hunt again we'll see about it. But not until you're ready."

Clearing his throat Sam decided he might as well tell Dean the rest of his plan. "See I...um...I wanted to get the hunt done soon." When Dean gave him a hard look he rushed on. "Just hear me out Dean, please. Krista, Justin, and Jonathan are heading out in another week and I want to talk to them before they go."

Dean's good mood had evaporated upon learning why Sam had been hurt, but now he was verging on furious and his tenuous hold on his anger was starting to slip. "Why could you possibly want to talk to them again?"

It was clear Dean wasn't going to be happy with his plan at all so Sam doubted Dean would be happy for his reasons, but he forged on instead. "Because I need to." He shifted and shrugged. "I need to talk to them Dean. I don't really know why but I do. To find out why they did and said what they did, to tell them you'll always be more important to me than anything they could tempt me with, hell to tell them they're stuck up snobs." Sam shrugged again and stopped before he ventured into chick-flick territory, a place he suspected was off limits again now that they were getting back to normal. "I just need to do this."

"And why is it so important this hunt gets finished first?" Dean kept his voice even, trying to hold back the emotion there. He didn't want Sam to see those people again. They'd done enough already.

"Because I want to do it on the bluff."

"Oh, hell no!" Dean exclaimed, finally bursting. "No, definitely not. There is no way you're going to go back up there. Not happening Sammy." Leaping up he started pacing the room, his movements clearly agitated. "You almost died up there, and now you want to go back? Definitely not!"

"Dean, I need to. Please," Sam pleaded. "That's where all this started and I need to end it there. That's why we need to salt and burn that spirit. We can't go back up there and ask Krista, Justin and Jonathan to join us with a spirit trying to kill people."

"Yes we could," Dean mumbled in a sulky voice similar to that of a chastised five year old, realizing he was going to be giving in to Sam on this one. His little brother looked so earnest and intense that he couldn't say no. Sam needed to do it, and it had to be on the bluff. He'd never hear the end of it otherwise, and his anger slowly vanished. "It's not like they haven't earned it."

"Dean, we're not putting them in danger. They're jerks but they don't deserve to be left at the mercy of an angry spirit." Sam frowned at his brother, trying to look serious. He admitted he wouldn't mind giving them a taste of what he'd gone through and leaving them at the spirit's mercy would be nice, but they saved people, they didn't hurt them.

"Fine, we won't put them in danger. What do you know about this spirit?"

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

Two days later Sam stood leaning against a tree, one hand holding a shotgun while the other was clenched tight around the grip of one of his crutches, keeping watch as Dean worked to dig up the grave of Adam Mallory. After some research and Sam sweet talking the middle aged waitress at the local diner they'd found out the boy's identity and the location of the grave.

Apparently Adam had been killed by his abusive father on the ridge while they'd been hiking some thirty years before. The story went that the father had tried to beat the younger brother and Adam had stepped in. He'd been thrown over the edge of the cliff and died of his injuries a week later in hospital. His father had gotten away scot free, which was why they figured the kid's spirit was hanging around.

"How's it going?" Sam called to his brother as he scanned the graveyard around them.

"Halfway there. How are you holding up?" Dean replied, pausing in his digging to study his brother critically, looking for any sign that Sam wasn't holding up as well as he said he was. The younger Winchester was using the tree to prop himself up a little more than Dean liked and looked a little pale, but otherwise seemed to be doing ok.

"I'm fine Dean, just keep digging," Sam replied in irritation. Dean was really getting on his nerves, asking him every ten minutes if he was okay. "Unless you want me to dig and you keep watch?"

The snort that came from Dean told Sam his brother wasn't even going to dignify the comment with a reply. But Dean did keep digging, going twenty minutes without asking if he was ok. Sam was just watching his brother throw the last shovel of dirt out of the grave when a cold breeze brushed past him. Instantly on alert he scanned the area with even sharper eyes than before, looking for the slightest hint of something going wrong. He hadn't seen the spirit on the cliff, and apparently nobody with the other victims had seen anything either.

"Dean, I think Adam is around here somewhere," he called, raising the shotgun and watching Dean climb out, his movements faster and more urgent as he reached for the salt and gasoline.

"Almost done, give me a minute," Dean yelled back, turning to glance at his brother as he grabbed the salt, hurrying to cracked the can open and pour it on the bones he'd just unearthed, in a plain pine boxthat looked like it belonged in the old west. Apparently Adam's father hadn't thought enough to give his son more than a cursory burial.

"Just hurry up," Sam replied, and then saw it. Just a shimmer, barely a flicker of the air to the left of Dean, something he wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been for the slight fog in the air, which rippled and gave the ghost away. He sprang into action immediately.

"DEAN, LOOK OUT!"

Dean looked up, halfway through salting the corpse, when Sam shouted at him to look out. He hesitated for a split second when he didn't see anything, just long enough to give the ghost the chance it was aiming for. Invisible hands lifted him and he found himself flying through the air in a high arc that stopped when he came to rest against a tombstone two rows over. He staggered to his feet, groaning when the whole world tilted around him and reaching a hand up to his temple, where he could feel warm blood trickling down his hairline. Hissing at the touch of his fingers on a cut he stumbled forward back towards the grave.

Having seen Dean fly through the air Sam had taken the shot, watching as the ghost of a teenage boy became visible for a split second before dissipating in the wake of the round of rock salt. "Dean!" he yelled, spinning around haphazardly and almost crashing to the ground, looking for his brother. He limped forward when he spotted the elder Winchester stumbling back towards him, blood covering the left side of his face.

"'M ok, 'm good," Dean mumbled, waving a hand at Sam and stumbling back towards the grave. "Just keep watch, that bitch'll prolly be back."

"Maybe I should finish that," Sam commented, taking another faltering step forward, trying to move without falling over since he had dropped his crutch when he'd seen the spirit.

"Sam, someone hasta keep watch, and I can't see straight enough to do it," Dean replied. Picking up the salt can he dumped a bit more on the bones before grabbing the can of lighter fluid. He had to brace himself when he almost fell over, but managed to get the can and straighten back up. He was just moving back to the side of the grave when the air rippled in front of him. Only this time he managed to duck even as Sam yelled to get down. Rock salt rained down on him, but the ghost was gone.

"Hurry up Dean, he's not playing around here!" Sam yelled, firing off another round when the air on the other side of the grave from Dean shimmered.

Heeding his brother Dean wasted no time in emptying the can of lighter fluid over the bones. He didn't bother with the matches, leaving them laying where they were next to the empty salt canister and dropping his lighter in the grave instead. The accelerant did its job, and as he heard Sam curse and fire another shot the grave burst into flames.

"You ok, Sammy?" he asked, turning around and finding his brother lying on the ground, looking as dazed as he felt.

"Yeah, I'm fine, help me up?" Sam asked, holding out his good arm. Dean complied, pulling him up gently and propping him against the tree while grabbing the dropped crutch and handing it to him. Tucking it under his arm Sam took a minute to collect himself, breathing deeply to dispel the pain in his pelvis that had resulted from being shoved to the ground.

"You sure you're ok?" Dean asked in concern.

"Yes Dean, I'm fine. Just jarred everything when the spirit pushed me over," Sam replied in exasperation, all but throwing up his arms in defeat. Sometimes he hated older brothers. "How about you? You're the one who got thrown into a headstone. How's your head?" He reached out to feel his brother's forehead where a nice sized lump with a nasty looking cut was forming.

"I'm fine, dude. Personal space." Batting Sam's hand away Dean took the shotgun and moved back towards the grave slightly unsteadily. He had a killer headache and the warm trickle of blood told him his head was still bleeding, but he didn't think he had a concussion. A few stitches and a good night's sleep and he'd be good.

Picking up the lighter fluid and salt canister he tucked them into the supply duffle they'd brought before beginning to fill in the grave, which was already smoking more than it was burning. When it was done he turned back to Sam, hefting the duffle over his shoulder, and found his little brother leaning heavily against the tree. "Come on kiddo, let's get you home," he said gently, picking up Sam's other crutch and handing it to him, then helping him back to the Impala, which they'd driven right into the graveyard. Normally they parked an unobtrusive distance away but this time Dean had opted for closer rather than unobtrusive since Sam wasn't up to walking.

"Yeah, ok. Sooner we get back, sooner I can look at your head," Sam replied firmly, though his voice belied how tired he was. He also wanted some painkillers; the night had really worn him out. He was a little worried about getting to the bluff the next day, but he was pretty sure after a good night's sleep he'd be ok. There was an easier trail they could take for people who couldn't make the normal hike that would be easy enough to get up, even on crutches.

The drive back to the hotel was uneventful and quiet, both brothers too tired and sore to talk. When Dean pulled up to their cabin he glanced over to find Sam sleeping in the passenger seat, his mouth open slightly and his head resting against the window. Smiling, he climbed out and circled around to the passenger side, easing the door open and crouching down.

"Sammy, wake up. We're here," he called, reaching out and shaking his brother gently.

"Huh? No, wanna sleep here, s'okay," Sam mumbled, shifting slightly. The shift pulled on his still healing and newly abused body, making him groan and blink his eyes open slowly. "Dean, we home?" he asked groggily.

"Yeah, dude. We're home. You want a little help into the cabin?"

Thinking about it for a minute, Sam reached out and grabbed Dean's arm, using his brother as leverage to get his legs out. The movement hurt, straining his tired muscles and sending a small jolt of pain through his torso, so he nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Ok, just let me get your crutches." Grabbing the items out of the back seat, as well as the supply duffle, Dean got Sam situated and helped him to his feet, then into the cabin and straight to their bedroom.

Seeing where he was being led Sam pulled back, though he didn't get very much in the way of results. "No, Dean. Your head needs to be looked at."

"You can look at it, but in the bedroom. I'll even bring in some water and the first aid kit and let you clean me up," Dean replied, pulling a little harder to counter Sam's attempt to stop. Sam relented and he led his brother into the bedroom, where he insisted on settling him in bed before anything else, ignoring the protests he received. Things were back to normal between them, or almost, but he couldn't help hovering and being a mother hen. He wanted Sam settled and pain free before he'd let himself be taken care of; after all, Sam was the one who was recovering from almost dying.

"You wanna get the first aid kit and let me look at you now?" Sam asked after Dean had helped him change into sweats and a t-shirt, gotten him settled in the bed leaning against the headboard, and pushed a pain pill and water on him. He hadn't taken the pain pill yet though. They were pretty strong and he wanted to be lucid enough to see to his brother first.

Sighing, Dean did as requested, disappearing into the living room to retrieve the first aid kit from where it was beside the door. He hadn't bothered to put it away when they'd arrived at the cabin, deciding beside the door was as good a place as any for it. Setting it on the bedside cabinet he gathered the promised basin of water and cloths before settling himself gingerly on the edge of the bed, close enough for Sam to tend the cut without having to bend forward too much.

Soaking one of the cloths in the water Sam used it to clean Dean's face off, gently wiping away the mostly dried blood that covered the left side and scrubbing it out of his hair. Once it was gone a deep gash that had started to bleed sluggishly again was revealed just below Dean's hairline on his forehead. "That's gonna need stitches," he said as he probed it gently with two fingers, eliciting a hiss of pain from Dean.

"Then just do it, don't poke at it, you sadist," Dean replied, swatting Sam's hand away and glaring at him. He hated ghosts, he really did. They seemed to have a fetish with headstones and throwing him into them.  
"Oh, don't be a baby." Finishing up getting the blood off Dean's face, Sam soaked a pad of gauze in peroxide and wiped at the cut. He ignored the hisses Dean let out and made sure the gash was clean before threading a needle and putting in five stitches in a neat line. "There, done," he announced as he taped a square of gauze over the newly stitched gash and wiped away the last of the blood.

"Thanks, now take your pills and go to sleep," Dean replied. Getting up he cleared away the mess they'd made and went into the bathroom to wash up. Coming back out he changed into sleep pants and a clean t-shirt, slipped into bed.

"So, you ready for tomorrow?" he asked Sam as he slid under the covers. "You know, we can put it off a little longer, let you heal some more."

"I'm fine Dean. You're the one who got thrown into a headstone a couple hours ago," Sam replied in exasperation. Turning on his side gingerly, he gave Dean a steady look. "We took care of the ghost, the bluff is safe now. Nothing is going to happen to me up there." He knew what was bothering Dean and intended to stop his worry.

"Dude, that's not the point. I just don't think you're ready to face those three," Dean replied with a look of horror that Sam knew was completely fake while reaching to flip off the lamp. "I mean, who would be. Even perfectly healthy I'm not sure anyone could."

"Night Dean. I'm waking you up every two hours for concussion checks," Sam said into the darkness, his voice already heavy with sleep, deciding to give up and just go to bed. There was no point ignoring it.

"Go to sleep Sam. You wake me up and I'll shoot you."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note: **So here it is, chapter 15 and the long awaited confrontation between Sam and his friends! Only two or three more chapters to go! I'm sorry for the long wait - I moved so lost internet for a few weeks until I got it installed in the new house today. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **Alas, still not mine.

* * *

"You freakin' liar!" Dean exclaimed for the sixth time the next morning as they climbed the path leading to the bluff.

"Dude, I said it was easier and it is," Sam replied with a cringe. Spotting another bench he swung himself over and eased down onto it, appreciating the hands that gripped his arms to help. He sent his brother a grateful look, which Dean acknowledged with a small smile.

"Whose definition of 'easier' are you going by?" Dean snapped, though his gentle handling of his brother contrasted his irritated tone. "It's twice as long."

Cringing again and massaging his throbbing hip, which he'd figured out hurt along with his pelvis for some strange reason, Sam tried to ignore his brother. It was true he hadn't told the complete truth about the alternate trail to the bluff but he hadn't lied either. "It's flatter and has benches," he said finally, caving at the look Dean was giving him. "It's made for the elderly, disabled, and people with strollers like the sign at the bottom said."

Dean's eyes followed Sam's hand as the younger Winchester rubbed his hip. His pelvis had to be killing him; he'd gotten progressively slower as they had climbed the trail, cringing more and more. This was his third stop in a row; he'd been stopping at every bench for the last half hour and they still had halfway to go. "Yeah, well that sign didn't mention idiotic little brothers on crutches with broken bones, now did it?"

"I'm fine Dean, just a little sore. I haven't walked this far in a while," Sam said, seeing where Dean was looking and spotting the concern in his brother's face. He instinctively stopped rubbing his hip. "They're waiting for us, we should get going," he added, pushing to his feet. Tucking his crutches under his arm again he swung forward, knowing Dean would follow. Sure enough after a minute he heard the crunching of Dean's footsteps on the path behind him.

"So, what are you gonna tell them when you get there?" Dean asked after a few minutes of walking in silence, one hand full of their weapons duffle and a camping chair for Sam to sit in, the other hovering near his brother's elbow just in case.

"I already told you Dean, I don't really know. I just have to talk to them again. They need to know what they did and that I don't want to talk to them again," Sam replied patiently, used to Dean asking the question; he had been asking it incessantly since he had agreed to come back to the bluff. "They were out of line and they need to know that, but I don't really know what else. I'll think of it when we get there."

Spotting another bench he debated a break but forced himself to go past it, even when Dean's hand made contact with his elbow in an attempt to steer him to it. They'd be to the top in ten minutes, he could make it.

It ended up being another thirty minutes before they reached the bluff. Dean had insisted on two more rests and Sam hadn't bothered arguing. He was too sore to, though he did manage to keep Dean from making him stop at every bench. Still, it was a relief when they spotted Krista, Justin, and Jonathan and made their way towards the group that was sitting on a blanket eating lunch.

Krista spotted them first, setting down her plate and leaping to her feet. "Sam!" she exclaimed, rushing to him, but was stopped at a glare from Dean. "Umm...there's lunch if you want some, its chicken and potato salad from the diner at the trailhead." Glancing at Dean she cleared her throat. "There's only enough for one more person, though. We didn't know you were coming Dean, sorry."

Sam just glared, already angry at the people who were supposed to be his friends. He had made it clear Dean was coming, his exact words on the phone being 'Dean and I will meet you,' and 'Dean's coming with me'. "Thanks, that sounds great," he said instead of what was in his head; he wanted to keep the peace for as long as possible. He let Dean guide him over to the edge of the blanket and sank down into the chair when it was set up, relinquishing his crutches and using Dean's arms to balance as he eased himself into the seat.

"Here you go Sam. Like I said, we're sorry there's not enough for your brother." Krista held out a plate piled with potato salad and grilled chicken breast, an apologetic look on her face that Sam knew was faked now that he was seeing the real Krista.

"That's ok. Dean can share mine, I don't have much of an appetite," he said as he took the plate, reaching down slowly to grab a second fork which he handed to his brother. "One of my medications can be an appetite suppressant and another makes me a little nauseous," he added, pleased to see the guilty look on the others' faces.

After an awkward silence Justin cleared his throat. "So, you're looking better pal," he said hesitantly, attempting his usual bravado but clearly failing.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Dean grumbled around a mouthful of Sam's chicken.

"Dean," Sam murmured quietly before fixing a hard glare on his supposed friends. "Yeah, I am doing better. I spent two weeks in a coma and another four weeks recovering so far, but things are looking up." He chuckled humourlessly and bit into a forkful of potato salad, suddenly not interested in being civil. He'd planned on it but was too angry to. They had known Dean was coming and hadn't brought any lunch for him deliberately. He was sick of how they treated his brother and now they had the gall to act like he'd only had the flu or something.

Jonathan had the good sense to look apologetic but Krista and Justin were oblivious to his anger. Actually, Sam thought, Jonathan hadn't been as bad as the other two. He hadn't been very nice, but he hadn't instigated any of the jokes or 'insult Dean' sessions. He had been more of a follower than anything.

"I don't know why you're angry at us Sam," Krista piped up after a minute. "Dean is the one who left you to get hurt."

"We were only trying to talk some sense into you and help you get your life back," Justin added with an air of superiority Sam had really begun to hate. "We got you a place at Stanford again, Krista's father phoned with the good news this morning. Now you can come back to the real world instead of the pointless road trip you're on." He spoke as if he was revealing a prize Sam had won, or was passing on a great secret and Sam hated it.

A low growl from beside Sam made him reach out a hand and latch onto Dean's coat, stopping his movement forward. He could feel Dean's tension and didn't really blame his brother, but letting him beat Justin to a pulp wasn't really going to help matters, even if it would be extremely satisfying.

"Dean didn't leave me to get hurt," Sam replied once he was sure Dean wouldn't attack. "You were the ones who said that, you told me he was gone and didn't want to come back when all I could do was ask for him."

"We're sorry, we didn't think he was coming back," Jonathan said in a low voice, looking truly sorry. It was in stark contrast to Krista, who bore a fake look of surprise and Justin, who looked affronted. Both seemed shocked at the accusation.

"Sam, you know that isn't true," Krista said. "We were only doing what was best for you."

"Best for him!?" Dean exploded; Sam's hand on his coat was the only thing keeping him from moving to kill the idiots in front of him.

"Dean please," Sam said, stilling his brother again. To the group in front of him he snorted. "Do you know how it feels to be scared and hurt, unable to help yourself, and to be told the only thing that will make it better, the only person you want, the only one who can make you feel safe and help you isn't coming?" His voice rose in volume until he was shouting; Dean did low and deadly when he was mad, Sam shouted. "Don't tell me that was for my own good, cause' nothing could be farther from the truth.

The silence on the bluff when Sam finished was so absolute they could hear a squirrel scurrying up a tree trunk, it's tiny claws scraping against the rough bark. The complete and utter stillness on his right made Sam look up to find Dean staring at him with the same tender look, full of love and concern and a touch of worry, that he had worn too often for nearly two months now.

"Well, that was quite the speech Sam," Justin said finally, clearing his throat again. "We apologize; we shouldn't have done that and had we known you felt that way we wouldn't have. Now, will you forgive us so we can talk about getting you back to Stanford?"

Sam just laughed, the sound almost hysterical. They didn't get it, they really didn't. "You don't understand, Justin. I'm not going back to Stanford. I'm staying with Dean."

"Sam, you can't be serious. This is your life we're talking about. It's more important than a silly road trip in a beat up old car."

"Hey, watch it with the car," Dean spoke out from his place a t Sam's side. This time, however his voice held more amusement and indignation on behalf of his baby than anger. Hearing Sam say the only thing that would have made it better when he'd been hurt was him had lifted a weight off his chest. He could breathe easy, now that he realized that it hadn't been completely his fault. The spirit would have attacked Sam whether he was there or not, and although he still felt guilty and was sure that if he had been there he could have protected his brother, hearing Sam confront his friends was helping. His fears that Sam would leave had evaporated too.

When Justin gave him a blank look he shook his head. "She's a classic, I'll have you know, and ten times better than the yuppie car you drive." He grinned at the angry look on Justin's face, feeling good for giving the man a taste of his own medicine even if it was a small taste.

"Anyway," Sam interjected with a small smile for his brother before his anger returned full force on his friends. "I'm not going back to Stanford. Dean and this road trip are more important than anything to me." He snorted again. "And anyway, after the way you treated Dean and what you did to me, do you really think that I'd happily take anything from you? Or even consider it? I asked you to come up here to tell you that you can stuff your help and offer to go back to school. I never want to see you three again. You were wrong about Dean, he'd never leave me; he does everything he can to protect me. The way you guys treated him was disgusting and –"

"What are you saying Sam? We've never been mean to you; we've tried to be your friends. We helped you adjust to a higher class life at Stanford, gave you social contacts and kept you from being an outcast! If that's the way you want to play it, fine. We'll take our leave now and you can go back to your sorry life." Climbing to his feet after interrupting Sam's rant Justin stalked away, motioning for the others to follow. He didn't get more than ten feet before the air shimmered beside him and he flew over the edge of the path, crashing loudly down the incline Sam knew too vividly was there.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: **Here it is, chapter 16! I can't believe this story is so long! It was only supposed to be four or five chapters, but it ran away with me! There's only one more left after this though!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them, as usual.

* * *

The minute Justin went over the edge pandemonium broke loose. Krista shrieked and leapt to her feet, looking around frantically and ready to run. Jonathan swore loudly, also jumping up and looking panicked. "What the hell was that? Where did Justin go!?!" Krista was babbling and wringing her hands, occasionally flapping them wildly beside her.

At the same time as Krista was panicking Sam and Dean had also sprung into action. With a loud "shit! We took care of him!" Dean reached into the duffle and yanked out the two sawed off shotguns, thrusting one at Sam with a handful of extra shells. "You, get over here!" he snapped, reaching out and grabbing Krista and Jonathan. Setting them on the blanket again he quickly drew a circle of salt around them.

"What are you doing? We have to get out of here. The path could collapse on us too!" Krista screeched.

Also getting to his feet, ignoring his injuries, Sam checked his shotgun before limping over to the salt circle. "Whatever you do, stay in the circle," he warned Jonathan, surprised when he received a wide-eyed but steady nod.

"What the hell was that?" the other man asked quietly, grabbing Sam's arm as he turned away but releasing it the minute Sam turned around again to look at him.

"A spirit," Sam replied simply. He didn't have time to stand around talking. "I'll explain later, just make sure you don't leave the circle." Turning around again he limped over to where Dean was already beginning to make his way down the slope. He had laid his shotgun down on the ground and was climbing slowly down through the undergrowth and loose rock and earth.

Searching the bottom of the gorge Sam picked out Justin's off white jacket against the green and brown of the forest. He was laying on his side, unmoving, his arms and legs flung out at random angles. But from where he was Sam could see him stir feebly, a faint groan reaching his ears.

"Sam, Left!" Dean yelled suddenly. Instinctively Sam whirled left, spotted the faint shimmer that quickly materialized into the image of a boy he would put at about 10 years old. He didn't hesitate; he fired off a shot and watched as the salt round dissipated the spirit.

"I thought we got rid of him!" Dean yelled once the boom of the shotgun had faded away.

"Dean, I think that's the younger brother," Sam replied in shock as he put two and two together. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it before, it was so obvious now. When Dean paused in his descent to look at him like he was nuts, Sam paused in the reloading of his weapon. "Think about it; the younger brother disappeared; everyone thought he ran away but the newspaper mentioned it was suspicious though the police couldn't prove anything. What if his father brought him up here and killed him? It wasn't Adam who's been attacking people; it's been the younger brother!"

"Shit, shit, shit," Dean was muttering as he inched lower. He looked up and gave his brother a commanding look. "Sam, get in the salt circle with Krista and Jonathan," he ordered. "Call 911 and wait there." He wasn't going to let Sam get hurt again, there was no way. He hadn't been there the first time to protect Sam, but he was there this time and he'd be damned if a ghost was going to attack his baby brother a second time.

"Dean no!" Sam exclaimed. He couldn't believing what Dean was saying. "I'm not sitting around waiting while you're left wide open with an angry spirit around!"He straightened up as much as he could and locked the stock on the shotgun. "I'll keep watch for it while you get Justin. Just hurry up." His tone was stubborn, brooking no argument from Dean. He rarely used the tone with his brother but he'd be damned if he'd let Dean risk himself.

"Fine, but be careful," Dean conceded, his reluctance clear. He continued down the gorge leaving Sam up at the top on look-out.

When Dean disappeared Sam allowed himself to sag slightly. He wasn't leaving Dean vulnerable but that didn't mean he was necessarily up to the task. He was pretty sure it was only his Winchester stubbornness keeping him standing after the long hike up the bluff; he wasn't sure how he was going to make it back down later.

He was startled from his lookout by a hand on his arm that made him whirl around, only to find Jonathan staring at him with wide eyes, the barrel of the shotgun an inch from the other man's nose. "Damnit Jonathan, I told you to stay in the circle!" Sam exclaimed angrily. "Can you three listen to what I want just once?"

"S-sorr-y," Justin stuttered and held up a crutch. "You looked a little unsteady so I brought this over."

Sam took the crutch and was about to tell Jonathan to get back in the circle when he noticed the other man wasn't looking at him anymore. He was staring-wide eyed at something a little down the wall of the gorge.

"Is that a skull? Please say that isn't a skull," Jonathan stated, horrified, and pointed to the spot he was looking.

Sure enough when Sam followed Jonathan's pointing finger to a spot halfway down the gorge wall, just at the edge of where the path had given out, his eyes picked out the white of a skull and other bones amidst what looked like red, blue and black fabric. "Shit," he muttered, searching out his brother who was at the bottom and hurrying towards Justin.

"Dean! The body is here! We need to take care of the body!" he shouted. Dean paused in checking Justin's pulse to look up, then over to the bones when Sam pointed to them. His face reflected the same shock Sam was feeling at finding the bones there, though Sam couldn't believe their luck. Obviously the father had brought the younger brother up here, killed him and buried him just like he'd thought.

Seeing the bones Dean gave Sam a thumbs up, thanking lady luck for putting the bones right where they could take care of the sucker. "Get the salt and some lighter fluid from the bag and toss it down!" he yelled back to Sam. "Let's get this bastard burned before he comes back!"

"Get the bag of salt and the can of lighter fluid and bring it back here," Sam repeated to Jonathan, pointing to the salt circle where their bag lay. "How's Krista?" The question was an afterthought. He didn't really care how the girl was doing but the way she was sitting, staring at them with wide, horrified eyes, made him ask.

"She's scared and hasn't said a word since that ghost showed up," Jonathan replied, shouting because he was running back to get the requested supplies. "I think she's in shock." When he returned with them he held each one up. "Now what?"

Sam was taken aback slightly by Jonathan's acceptance of the situation and his willingness, even eagerness, to help. "Dean needs them, he has to salt and burn the bones," he replied after a minute. Reaching out a hand he grabbed the salt and turned back to the gorge. "Dean, catch!" he yelled tossing the salt, then the can of lighter fluid, when his brother turned around. He spared a minute to thank God this was turning out so easy. As angry as he was with Justin, Jonathan and Krista he didn't want them to get hurt – or any more hurt than they were – and knew things could be going so much worse.

Catching the items Dean hurried to the grave, satisfied that Justin wasn't badly hurt and could wait until the bones were torched. Then they would cover the bones up and call 911 to get him, and Sam, out of there. Moving quickly he scrabbled in the dirt with his bare hands to finish uncovering the bones so nothing got left behind when he burned them. "Any sign of it?" he yelled up to Sam as he worked.

"Nothing so far!" Sam yelled back, looking around. Which, strangely enough, didn't reassure him. It was a little too easy; he hated hunts that were too easy. When you're a Winchester nothing is ever simple, there's always a catch or a hitch or something goes wrong. It's just the way things work for them. And so far things had fallen into place a little too simply. The kid appearing, finding the bones right away and in easy reach; the whole nine yards. And now the spirit had decided to take a hike and leave them to finish the job.

As if it heard him the ghost appeared less than two feet away. He barely had time to react before he was picked up and tossed sideways across the bluff, landing right beside the blanket and salt circle, his back slamming into the ground and sending pain radiating through all his injuries. His gun went flying in one direction, his crutch in the other. Someone shouted beside him but he was too concentrated on how badly he hurt suddenly to reply, until a boom near him shook him out of his daze. Shoving up onto his elbows he looked around and found Jonathan standing where his gun had apparently landed and the smoking weapon in his hands.

"I shot it," Jonathan said dazedly. "I shot it with salt and it disappeared." He looked over to Sam, an expression of stunned wonder on his face. "That was amazing."

"Yeah, amazing. Now help me up," Sam replied struggling to his feet. Jonathan complied, grabbing him under the arm and helping to haul him up, then handing him a crutch and his shotgun back. "Thanks," Sam told him, limping back over to the edge of the gorge and peering down.

Dean was staring back at him, looking ready to climb back up despite Justin and the bones. "You ok?" the older Winchester asked, studying Sam in concern.

"Yeah, I'm ok," Sam replied with a reassuring smile, trying to hide the fact that he was in considerable pain after being tossed around like a rag doll. "You got the bones?"

"Almost, give me a minute," Dean replied, snapped out of his worry and reminded of why he was down there. Hurrying the two feet back to the bones that he had almost completely uncovered he quickly finished the job, dumped salt on them, doused it with lighter fluid and dropped a match from the book in his pocket on them. Two shotgun blasts came from the top of the bluff while he worked, making him speed up his pace.

Sam knew the minute Dean torched the bones. The spirit, which had just reappeared for the third time, gave a shriek and disappeared in flames. Once the spirit was fully gone Sam dropped his shotgun and sank to the ground, giving in to his freshly battered body's demands. He could hear Dean shouting from below and willed himself to sit up a little straighter so he could peer down to his brother. "I'm ok, Dean," he called. "How's Justin?"

Dean had moved back to Justin's side as he called to his brother and turned his attention back to the fallen man despite the fact that he wanted to get back up to Sam, get him off the bluff and back to the hospital. "He's out cold; smacked his head pretty good and I think he busted his leg, but he'll be fine," he called back in answer to Sam's question. "Soon as the fire dies down I'll cover it up and we can call 911."

"Yeah, ok. I'll clean up the salt up here," Sam replied, moving to stand and clean up any evidence of what had happened so the authorities didn't ask questions. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and Dean's yell to stay put.

"I'll do it Sam. The blanket is big enough to cover it up, you just stay there," Jonathan said gently, patting his shoulder and moving off to do as he said he would. Sam just shrugged, suddenly exhausted, and leaned back against the tree he'd sunk down beside to alternate between watching Dean cover the ashes of the now burned out fire and Jonathan as he moved a still in shock Krista and covered the salt circle with the blanket. It was with relief that he watched Jonathan also re-pack the duffle, shoving the shotguns in along with everything that had spilled out when the other supplies had been taken out.

He must have drifted off, because the next thing he knew he was on his back with Dean crouching beside him, a phone to his ear that he was speaking into. Blinking dazedly Sam listened to Dean talking to what he assumed was the 911 operator, telling her that their friend had fallen into the gorge and they needed help, playing the perfect scared and worried victim. When he was done he shut his phone and smiled gently at Sam.

"Welcome back Sammy. I thought you were gonna pull another rip van winkle on me for a minute there," he said, though Sam could hear the worry he was trying to mask with humour.

"Sorry, just kind of tired," Sam replied with a small shrug, wincing when the movement pulled on his sore back.

Dean saw the wince and frowned. "Jonathan said you landed on your back. Just stay still, the paramedics will be here soon."

"No, I'm good. Don't need paramedics," Sam protested, forcing his tired body into a sitting position and ignoring the pain radiating from his ribs, back and pelvis. "Really Dean, I'm ok. How's Justin?" He swayed once he was upright and would have fallen back to the ground if Dean hadn't grabbed him, sliding in behind him and pulling Sam to rest against his chest.

"Just relax Sam. You've been out of it for almost half an hour. You're going to the hospital." He put all the force in his voice he could, making it clear to Sam that he was going, period. "Justin is fine; he's down the hill with Jonathan, complaining about how long it's taking to get help." Chuckling, Dean shifted slightly. "You know, Jonathan isn't all that bad, really. Never woulda thought it but he told Justin to shut his pie hole. He even apologized for the way he and the other two treated me."

Sam chuckled, the laugh tailing off into a groan when his ribs made it clear they weren't happy about laughing. "He got rid of the spirit when it threw me across the bluff," he replied to his brother. "What about Krista?"

"I'm terrified. Where are the paramedics, Justin needs help!" An irritated voice replied from nearby. Sam opened his eyes, which he didn't realize had been closed, and glanced over to find Krista sitting in his camp chair, pale and shaking and obviously angry. "You should be helping him. We helped you when you were hurt but obviously you don't care. You've made it clear you don't already. I mean, we did everything we could to get you back to Stanford and you throw it in our faces. If you hadn't been sitting with us when Justin walked away I would have thought you pushed him out of spite."

Sam just stared at Krista, amazement overriding his brain and making him unable to think of anything to come back with. "Just....shut up..." he said finally, frowning and letting his eyes drift closed. "Just shut up."

Krista's reply was cut off by the sound of sirens and shouting coming from the easy trail Sam and Dean had taken up to the bluff earlier. Dean shouted back, calling out to say where they were, and a minute later a swarm of rescue workers and paramedics surrounded them. Four took off down the gorge after Dean told them where Justin and Jonathan were while two crouched down in front of Sam and Dean.

"Hey buddy, how do you feel?" one of the paramedics asked, reaching out to slip a blood pressure cuff on Sam's arm. "I recognize you, weren't you hurt up here a couple months ago? What brought you all the way back up?"

"Yeah..umm...came back up to say goodbye to my friends..." Sam replied, fighting the fuzz that had been taking over his brain since they had taken care of the ghost. "I'm ok, just tired."

"He passed out just after Justin fell. He was out for about half an hour," Dean told the paramedic. Sam elbowed him in the stomach, the message of _traitor_ clear. Dean just gave him a squeeze back.

"Ok, Sam, do you hurt anywhere? We need to know if you aggravated any of your injuries when you fell," the second paramedic told him as she reached up to fix an oxygen mask over his face. "Just relax, I'm going to put an IV in your arm too."

Sam felt the pinch after his sleeve was pulled up and sighed in resignation. Truthfully he didn't feel the greatest but if anyone would listen to him he'd be able to tell them he was just tired. He was ready to admit maybe they should have waited a few more days, until he was a little stronger.

"Sam, can you tell me where you hurt?" the second paramedic repeated her question, frowning. "He's fading," she said to her partner.

"Back hurts from when I fell....landed on it. Pelvis, ribs, head," Sam said, prompted out of his reverie by the paramedic's question. "Broke my pelvis last time. Still hurts," he added.

"Ok, that's good, just relax now, we'll get you onto a stretcher and down the trail then to the hospital," the first paramedic said. "On a scale of one to ten, how is the pain?"

"Seven," Sam replied after thinking about it. He wanted to say four or five but Dean squeezed his shoulder in warning so he told the truth.

"Alright, I'm going to give you something for the pain then. You'll feel a little pinch."

Sam felt said pinch and let his head flop back onto Dean's shoulder once the telltale heat of morphine ran up his elbow. He heard a commotion and rolled his head to the side to watch as the four rescue workers brought Justin up the hill in a red stokes. Jonathan followed, helped along and attached to a harness. Once he was undone he came over and crouched beside Sam.

"Hey, Sam. How do you feel?"

"Like it'd be nice if people would stop asking that," Sam said testily, instantly feeling bad at the look on Jonathan's face. The guy had done well when the action had started and Sam was beginning to change his opinion of Jonathan. Thinking back he realized the guy hadn't been as bad as Jason and Krista so gave him a slightly apologetic look. "Sorry. I'm ok, just sore."

"Good. I'm going to go with Justin and Krista, I'll see you at the hospital." He looked sheepish for a second. "And Sam, I'm...uh...sorry. About how we all treated Dean, I mean. I don't blame you for getting mad." Giving Sam and Dean a small smile he stood back up and hurried away, climbing into the ambulance they had just lifted the stretcher carrying Justin in.

As he watched Jonathan leave Sam's eyes began to droop. He blinked sleepily, realizing the pain meds were starting to work, but struggled to stay awake. He really hated how they made him sleep against his will; he didn't want to worry Dean by falling asleep again. The older Winchester had been worried enough as it was the past few weeks.

"Go to sleep bro, I've got you," Dean whispered, apparently reading his thoughts. Sam felt Dean press a kiss into his hair and was torn between embarrassment and pleasure at the simple gesture that had become so common lately. Smiling faintly under the oxygen mask he let his eyes slip shut.

The next few hours were either a blur or missing for Sam. He didn't completely fall asleep on the bluff, instead hovering between oblivion and wakefulness. Everything was a haze of sound and feeling. He felt himself being lifted onto a stretcher, then the rumble and movement and sirens that told him he was in the ambulance, then the bright lights and sounds of the hospital. It wasn't until the hospital that everything finally faded out as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	17. Chapter 17

**Yes, I added another chapter. No, this isn't a brand new chapter. Chapter 3 is the brand new chapter. If you're confused - don't be. I accidentally missed an entire chapter (how I don't know) so had to replace each chapter with the one before, bumping each one up a number and adding the final chapter as chapter 17 in order to put chapter 3 in. It's an important chapter that explains why Sam remembers Krista telling him over and over that Dean isn't there and that he left. It's his rescue from the bluff and being taken to the hospital. **

**Author's Note: **So, here it is! The final chapter of Brothers and Friends. It's been a wonderful journey writing this and sharing it with everyone, and I'd like to send a special thank you to **bhoney**, whose regular reviews and private messages have really helped me make this story better. And thank you to everyone who has sent in reviews and added this story to your favourites and story alerts. It was very encouraging to see such a positive response for my first story.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, as usual.

* * *

When Sam woke up again it was to the bright white walls, fluorescent lights and pale green curtains of a hospital cubicle. The weight of an oxygen mask was over his face and the pinch of an IV was in his arm. The faintly floating feeling was also present so he was on the good stuff, clearly. Most noticeable though was the warm hand gripping his.

Blinking sleepily he rolled his head on the pillow to look at Dean, who smiled gently back at him. "Hey," he muttered, coughing slightly when the words irritated his scratchy throat.

"Hey, about time you woke up," Dean said softly, giving Sam's hand a squeeze. "Doc said you could go home when you were awake but that was six hours ago. They're starting to talk about admitting you because you wouldn't wake up." He didn't even bother hiding his worry, didn't joke to cover it up. Sam had scared the shit out of him, again, on that bluff and he didn't have the energy to make light of it.

"Sorry," Sam replied, feeling bad for worrying his brother even more. "Told you I was tired." Coughing again he grimaced. "Thirsty."

"Here, nurse left some water for you." Leaning sideways Dean snagged the water sitting on the cabinet in the corner of the cubicle and, easing the oxygen mask aside, pressed a straw to Sam's lips. He pulled it back after his brother had taken a few swallows and settled the oxygen back in place, pressing the nurse call button on the wall when he set the water back down.

"So what did the doctor say?" Sam asked after a minute of silence, blinking sleepily again and wondering how long it would be before they let him go. He didn't want to fall asleep again and wake up to find they had admitted him.

"You've bruised your back, rang your bell a little and luckily haven't done any more damage to the injuries you already have. You just pushed yourself way past what your body is ready for," a familiar voice stated as Dr. Lacey came through the curtains into the exam cubicle. He smiled at Sam. "You're very lucky. What you were doing on that bluff I don't want to know, especially since you are supposed to be resting and healing, not hiking, but you were lucky at least."

"So can I go home?" Sam asked. He ignored the sharp look Dean gave him and tried to look as awake and alert as he could.

Dr. Lacey moved forward and began examining him, shining a light into his eyes and manipulating his limbs. After listening to Sam's lungs and heart he stepped back, slinging his stethoscope around his neck and smiling. "Stay long enough to finish that IV and then you can leave. I'll have a nurse come in to check on you in about an hour, and the papers for you to sign out waiting at the front desk." Giving both brothers a stern look he added, "and don't take it personally but I hope to never see you two again."

"Same here, doc," Dean replied with a grin. "And thanks." Holding out his hand he shook Dr. Lacey's, then turned to Sam when the doctor left but the youngest Winchester was already sound asleep again, his head lolling on the pillow. Chuckling Dean righted his brother's head and leaned back in his chair to wait until they could leave.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

"Dude, are you ready already!?" Sam shouted from the couch of their cabin. "Seriously Dean, I'm not going to wait forever!" Craning his neck he tried to see out the back door to the small backyard, but not seeing anything he sagged resignedly back into the pillows. It had been two days since the bluff and though he was still tender and felt worn out he was feeling better, but Dean wasn't treating him that way. Dean was treating him like glass, confining him to his bed or the couch since coming home from the hospital. He didn't mind since he had been sleeping almost as much as the first time he'd come back from the hospital, but Dean's hovering was getting kind of annoying. Pushing himself up he reached for his crutches.

"Keep your pants on, Sasquatch, I'm almost done," Dean shouted back, the smile clear in his voice. "And don't even think of getting up. You try it and you'll eat shit on a shingle for supper."

Sam immediately sat back down, hastily rearranging his covers and trying to look innocent when Dean finally came through the door, a tray of steak, mushrooms and baked potatoes in his hands. His mouth watered at the smell and he watched eagerly as Dean set everything on the kitchen counter before preparing two plates piled high with food.

When the plate was finally handed to him and a bowl of salad set down on the coffee table where he could reach it, Sam was almost drooling. One thing Dean was good at was barbequing. He never got the chance often enough, but when he did it was worth it. He was a master chef when it came to Barbequed steak and potatoes.

"Mmmm, amazing," he said, closing his eyes and savouring the forkful of steak he'd just put in his mouth. It was medium well, still slightly pink and so tender it almost melted on his tongue. "Dude, you're the best." He wasn't sure he could finish everything on the plate, Dean had definitely been optimistic when he'd made it up, but he would eat as much as he could. There was no way he was going to waste it.

"Damn right I'm the best. I'm also good looking," Dean replied, laughing at the glare Sam sent him. He felt lighter, in a better mood, since they'd salted and burned both boys' bodies. It meant everything was over and done with. Sam had gotten closure with his friends, the hunt they'd stumbled on was closed and now they could concentrate on getting Sam healed.

Clearing his throat, he finished chewing what was in his mouth and set his fork down. "So, what did Jonathan have to say this morning?"

Sam set down his fork as well, after swallowing the salad he'd been chewing. "He said Justin is going to be fine. He and Krista are in denial about what happened. Justin thinks it was an accident and Krista is sure we had something to do with it. Both of them also think they told us off instead of the other way around. But he says thank you, and that again he's sorry for the way he treated you. I gave him our phone numbers in case he ever needs us."

"Good. You know he turned out to be ok," Dean replied, nodding and going back to eating his dinner. "I was thinking we should head out soon, if you're feeling up to it," he said after a few more bites of food.

It was Sam's turn to nod. He had enjoyed their time at the cabin if you didn't include his injuries. While he recovered he and Dean had been able to reconnect a bit, get to know each other and be brothers again like they hadn't since before he'd left for Stanford. He was going to miss it. But he could tell Dean was eager to get moving again; the older Winchester wasn't the type to stay in one place for so long, and if Sam admitted it to himself he was ready to leave too.

"Great. You good with leaving on Friday then? That'll give you two more days to relax and get back up to strength, the doc can take you cast off and then we'll be out of here." Shoving the last piece of potato skin into his mouth Dean stood up and gathered their empty plates and bowls, putting them in the sink to be washed later, and came back with two bowls of butterscotch ripple iced cream.

"Yeah, sounds good. I'll start looking for another hunt tomorrow," Sam replied as he dug into his ice cream. At Dean's sharp look he shrugged. "I know; we're not taking on any hunts until I'm back to a hundred percent. But I can still look. That way we'll have something for when we're ready."

Dean seemed satisfied with his answer and returned his attention to his ice cream. Sam smiled to himself, setting aside his half full bowl, his stomach too full to finish it, and settled back into the couch cushions. He was tired already and he'd only woken up from his nap two hours earlier.

"You want to go back to bed?" Dean's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Nah, I'm good here. I'll probably just sleep here," Sam replied, shaking his head. He could hear Dean getting up and putting the ice cream bowls in the sink with the dinner plates before he came back and settled into the easy chair next to the couch.

"Well, I'm going to watch a movie so don't complain that you can't sleep if you won't go into the bedroom," Dean told him, flicking on the TV and setting it to the Die Hard move he wanted to watch. Despite his snarky words though, he reached over and tugged Sam's blankets up to his shoulders and turned the volume on the TV down low so he wouldn't disturb Sam too much.

Sam just smiled to himself as he snuggled deeper into the blankets when Dean pulled them up, letting himself drift off into the welcome arms of sleep, content in the knowledge that Dean was there and he wasn't going anywhere. "Night Dean," he mumbled, "Love you."

As Dean watched his little brother drift off to sleep and heard his mumbled goodnight he blinked in surprise, not expecting it. After a minute he smiled and patted Sam's foot. Yeah, things had been rough and they had both learned a harsh lesson, but they had also learned that nothing could come between them. They would be ok; Sam was on the road to recovery, they'd be back on the road in a couple days, and things would be back to normal.

"Night Sammy," he whispered to the sleeping form. "Love you too."


End file.
